


Fog and Roses

by semiiramiis (HikaruAdjani)



Series: Fog and Roses [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Gilneas, Worgen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruAdjani/pseuds/semiiramiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Cataclysm all! My take on the Worgen starting chain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"My brother is the dullest man in all of Gilneas." The man spoke with the precision of one who was sober enough to grasp that he was quite intoxicated. The young woman sitting across from him only chuckled in response, shaking her head when his eyes fell on her.

"He's busy, Ban…" She admonished, and he raised a brow over a jaded gray eye.

"He marries tomorrow, Evelyn. He marries you tomorrow, yet he's at the warehouse." There was a wealth of recriminations under his terse sentences, and Evelyn shook her head sharply to stop him before he got started again. Ban was naturally argumentative, add however much spirits he'd had that night to the mix, and he'd never let go…like a mastiff with a particularly fine bone.

"Not tonight, Ban." She hissed, and he glared back. How this one could be so different than his older brother, she had no idea, but the only thing they had in common was their coloration. Both had raven hair, steel eyes, and there the resemblance halted. Bram was a big man, bordering on huge…imposing. Ban was thin, frail, well suited to the dandified finery he preferred. Bram was simple. Ban was fickle, temperamental, sullen and flighty. Bram was meat and potatoes…Ban was fancy little treats that she didn't even know the names of most of, and the few she did, she was certain she would mispronounce.

"There is no other night but tonight." He pointed out sharply, and she sighed. He was correct, there was no other night. She married his brother tomorrow at noon. But this was a discussion she didn't want to have…again.

"Ban. No."

"You're making a mistake, Evelyn." He intoned seriously, and she frowned. A serious Ban was a bad deal all around. A drunk Ban who still managed to be serious was even worse. He was normally a happy drunk, loud, boisterous, a joy to be around. This was not normal, and she didn't like it.

"We've had this discussion, Ban. When you were sober." And it had solved nothing then. There was no thought that it would solve anything now, the night before. He glanced at the empty snifter on the table next to him, and shrugged.

"I'm not as drunk as you seem to think I am." He argued, and she took a deep breath. She'd learned enough in the eight years she'd lived in this household to know when to not rise to one of Ban's baitings.

"No. Go to bed. Sleep it off. We need you looking pretty in the morning…best man." His lips twisted, and she was well aware that his mind came up with a million responses, many of them profane, but oddly, he decided to keep them to himself. Why, oh, why, couldn't Bram have been born with even a hint of this mind? This brilliance? Not all of it, because the entire package had given them someone she was certain she couldn't tolerate on a permanent basis. Ban was like the richest of cakes, best taken in small nibbles…thickly sweet with little nutrition. His brother was the blandest of oatmeals…stick to bones satisfying but boring.

"Perhaps you're right, Evelyn." He stood…his full adult height barely greater than hers, and she was no large woman… and then delved in the pocket of his greatcoat. "Here. My…sister. A gift for the beautiful bride." He produced a small box and presented it to her with a graceful flourish. He smiled wistfully when she took it, rescued his hat from the table, bowed and strode away. She remained on alert until she heard the tread of his boots on the stairs, and the deliberate snick of his door opening and closing before she dropped into the chair before the banked fireplace. Damn him. He always knew how to do this. She'd heard a thousand others express concern, and only from him did she ever get any reason to feel doubts. Bram would be a fine husband. She didn't need fire, she needed warmth and security. Ban was a house fire, not a hearth fire.

"Damn you, Ban." She mourned when she opened the box. His taste was, as always, impeccable. His brother had gifted her with the barest minimum of jewelry, all heavy and gold. The earrings resting on the black velvet before her were intricate, fragile…emeralds in a platinum setting, one large one with a dangle of three tiny stones. They were exquisite.

Ban woke when the moon rose, wide awake in spite of the large amount of alcohol he'd imbibed earlier. Wide awake in spite of the fact that he was, by his very nature, a late riser. He should have slept long enough for an exasperated Bram to have come to wake him. But no, Bram wasn't home yet. He could feel Evelyn…she was asleep in the room down the hall…but no Bram. The house was still empty.

Something was wrong.

That was the only explanation as to why he'd be awake. Why he'd be cold sober. He moved to glance at the massive dog beside his bed… Glory was awake as well, her eyes locked on his windows, standing silently within his fingertip's reach. She looked back when he sat up, greeted him with the smallest of whines, and then went back to staring at the closed curtains.

"What is it, girl?" He asked in a bare whisper, sliding from bed. He was almost afraid to open the curtains, almost afraid to look, but when he did, there was nothing out of place. Only Gilneas City, mostly asleep, and the rising moon. He unlatched the window, warily pushing it open. The world looked fine, but his heart ran and jumped in his chest like a rabbit running from Glory. The world smelled of fog and roses, just as it should. He could hear the muffled voices of those who did not sleep… guards, the constable passing on his way. They didn't sound disturbed.

He shook his head, pushing away from the window. The sane thing would be to go back to bed. But he'd never been accused of sanity, and even if he was unusually sane this evening, he doubted if he could sleep. He had rarely felt this awake. This aware. This filled with sword edged caution. He chose instead to dress, habitually picking up his walking cane. No. Not tonight. Almost without thought, he tossed it back on his lush bed, and moved to grasp the hilt hidden in the heavily embroidered bed hangings. Tonight was not one of those nights that called for the whisper thin blade 'hidden' in his cane. Tonight was…

He pulled the shining, liquid length of his rapier, turning it over in the growing moonlight. Why it was this tonight, he wasn't certain, but his soul told him it was, and he trusted his gut. "Glory." He called, and the mastiff ceased her wary view of the window and fell into heel behind him.

He walked the house, pausing first outside of Evelyn's room. She slept, he could feel it. Deeply…and he grasped her door handle. If he was caught, there'd be hell to pay, and he had no true explanation as to why. My gut says so. Not valid to her. Not valid to his parents. Certainly not valid to Bram. He should go downstairs. It was the safest thing to do. Have some more brandy, and wait for Bram to show up.

His hand moved with a will of its own, and the door opened silently. The mastiff stopped when he motioned at her to stay, and Ban slunk into Evelyn's room, on a beeline straight for her windows. He didn't spare a glance at her bed, that was not what he was there for. Her curtains hung open, and he stared outside again. Still the waiting dread. Still nothing concrete. He checked the locks, and slid the poker from the fireplace through the grips. The windows were iron. Their panes tiny. As long as the frame held….

What was wrong with him? He didn't know, but he grasped that he disliked the curtains hanging open, and he closed them without conscious thought. That plunged the room into darkness, and he couldn't admire Evelyn even if he wanted to. No. He was busy. There were other windows, other doors. The house needed to be secured.

He moved from window to window, locking the house from cellar to attic, followed by the faithful shadow of the mastiff. "Where's your brother?" He asked her when he finished the circuit of the house. She only tilted her head quizzically…her brother was with his. Wherever that was… he slipped his pocket watch from his waist coat and glanced at it. Bram, out after midnight…on what was now his wedding day? Father? Had they both lost their minds? Ban glanced at the door, torn. Leave Evelyn, alone? When the very air felt like this?

Evelyn woke to the sudden pounding of a fist on her door. It was deathly dark in her rooms, but it shouldn't be. "Who?" She yelped.

"It's Ban." His voice was muffled through the door, and she cursed under her breath. Ban? Tonight? Of all the damnable fools…

"Ban, we're not talking about this. I can't believe you woke me up…" She moved through the darkness, pulling the door open. The hallway was lit; brightly for this time… a quick glance at the hallway clock proved it was morning. It was the darkest part of the morning, less than an hour after midnight. Ban was dressed, and in his right hand, he carried a sword. Not the wicked little blade that every gentleman 'hid' in their walking canes, but the lethal silver length of a fighting blade. His eyes were intent, focused. He seemed… sober. "What?"

"Bram is not back yet. Neither is my father. It's almost one."

She frowned. Slipping in at one in the morning was Ban's style, hardly his brother's, and definitely not his father's. She didn't have an answer for that, and let him know so with a shrug.

"Evelyn. Something is wrong. I'm going to go to the warehouse." He raked thin fingers through his hair in ill disguised agitation. "But you need to be awake. Lock the door behind me, and don't let anybody in but us… do you want Glory?"

She tilted her head, feeling the air. He was correct, something intangible was wrong. Now that she was awakened, she could feel it pressing on the edges of her perceptions. "No. If you're going out there, you take her."

He nodded, spinning and stalking back into his rooms. They were also lit, and she hung warily outside in the hallway, not surprised when he pulled a heavily carved box from his dresser. She'd seen it before. She knew what it held. She was not surprised when he checked the first pistol, and made it vanish into the depths of his woolen greatcoat. She was somewhat surprised when he checked the mate of his dueling pistol, and offered it to her. He'd been the one to make certain she knew how to use one, because in his demented world, every lady needed to know how to use a pistol because the world was full of rakes like him. "Just in case, Evelyn." He muttered. "It's loaded. Be careful."

"You…be careful, Banastre." It felt odd. She'd never told him to take care a day in all the time she'd known him. And she very rarely called him by his full name.

He gave her a pale smile, leaned in, planted a brotherly kiss on her brow, whistled for the dog, and vanished into the gathering fog.


	2. Chapter 2

And still, nothing seemed outwardly amiss. People called his name in greeting, and he habitually touched the edge of his hat in response, although he recognized none of them. It was not uncommon for him to be abroad at this hour, and he travelled the darkened streets with ease. The path between home and the warehouses was a familiar one, adding to his speed.

Why aren't they home, yet? He understood his mother's absence. She was at his aunt's house, their plans were to stay up late working on the final preparations…flowers, ribbons, candles… chatting and eating cordial cherries as they did so. He had no place there, had been specifically warned to stay away. But his father, his brother… should have been home hours ago.

The cobbles were slick from the fog, the houses dark and foreboding. Rarely had Ban felt so ill at ease in the city he'd been born in, and never as an adult. But tonight was different. Tonight, he felt watched. Contemplated. Coursed, and he liked none of it. He was more than equal to any thief in the district, and they all knew that. Who would follow him? Judge him as prey? He glanced back at Glory, somewhat reassured to realize the great mastiff also seemed wary and uneasy.

"Late for you to be out, Master Russell. Forgot the wedding?"

Ban sneered, as if that was possible. But get him drunk enough; he supposed it just might be. He wasn't the wastrel son for nothing… "No, Charl." He greeted the watch on the corner easily, his tone belying his distress. "However I'm beginning to wonder if my father and Bram have. Have you seen them lately? They've not come home…."

"No?"

"No…."

The man shrugged. "No, I've not seen them since about three, Master Russell." He glanced into the sky, frowning. "A dark night. Go, fetch them, and be on your way. Not a night to be out in, even for a sort like you."

Ban didn't know if he wanted to be insulted or reassured, and decided on neither. He didn't have the time to figure it out. "Come, Glory." He muttered, and the dog fell into his shadow.

The feeling was more oppressive in the warehouse district, several times Ban caught just a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but the dark shapes were gone in the split second it took him to focus. The mastiff sidled closer and closer, a faint growl rising in her throat, and he had to agree with her. If he didn't calm down, he was going to kill someone….

"Almost there, Glory." He breathed, for his own relief, not for hers. She looked dubious, her tail still pinned and her hackles still raised. Just around the corner…

Turning that corner was one of the most difficult things that Ban had ever managed, and it was laughable to come out into a calm and empty courtyard. It mocked him, and he sighed in exasperation. What a fool he was. What a child…

He stepped back into his normal stride, moving across the courtyard lit by the rising moon, and into the warehouses he knew so well.

It was quiet, fairly well lit, and he glanced around in confusion. "Father?" He meant the call to be louder, more forceful, definitely not the nervous squeak of a boy growing his first beard hairs, but that was what he produced. "Bram?"

Nothing. He wound his fingers through Glory's collar and stared. There was a bated wait in the air, dark shadows, and the suddenly overwhelming feeling of danger. Glory vibrated with focus, her barely audible growl rising into a threatening bark. "Stay, girl." He commanded, and was almost surprised when she complied. There was something in that warehouse. Something among those crates….

He took a lantern from its hook, set his shoulders, and wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the horn grip of the pistol in his pocket. Each step forward was the victory of an inner contest of wills, and Ban made the corner. There was blood there, and Glory whined at his heels.

Blood. A lot of it, splashed up on the crates. A puddle of black blood, and Rex lying maimed in the pathway. Ban studied his brother's dog cautiously… Glory had been the runt of the litter; Ban had chosen her because of that. One runt for another. Likewise, the greatly imposing Bram had chosen the largest dog pup in the litter. But something had torn through one of the largest mastiffs that Bram had seen in his life, and through was an accurate enough concept. It wasn't just dead. It was destroyed. And if the mastiff was….

"Bram!" His brother wouldn't have stood by while this was happening. Although ponderous and slow to anger, once Bram got going, that was the end of that. Losing the dog he had raised from puppyhood would definitely ignite him. But the obvious reason for a guard dog to be lying dead was that Bram had gotten himself into a whole hell of a lot of trouble. And any trouble that ended with Bram conspicuously absent from this scene and his massive dog quite dead was trouble that Ban wasn't certain he was ready for. It was time to get the watch….

Almost as if his thoughts had been said aloud, he heard the slide of the warehouse door shut, and Glory gave into a sudden fit of strangled barking. They were still here. He tightened his grip on the pistol, leveling it within his pocket…

No. Bram was here. Ban paused when his brother stepped into the light. "Bram?"

"Ban." He sounded wrong. Strangled. Ill, and Ban regarded him warily. His sensible shirt was soaked in blood, and his gaze was not quite focused. "Ban. There you are."

"Bram. You've been hurt." Were the thieves gone? Still there? Where was their father? "I'll go get the watch…I saw Charl just outside."

"No."

"No?" The word was a threat, and Ban was suddenly all too aware that his large brother stood between him and every way out of the warehouse. "Bram…"

Bram moved much quicker than Ban would have ever given him credit for, but Glory was ready for it. The mastiff charged, a thick incessant growl in her throat, her claws skittering on the stone floor. She hit Bram, a compact mass of muscle and teeth that would take down even this mountain of a man…

Who was becoming no man. Ban's finger convulsed unwittingly on the trigger, the shot was good…Bram was an immense target and he was just getting larger. The round took him in the chest and barely staggered him, the mastiff clenched on his thigh barely staggered him, and there was death in his eyes.

The rapier hanging at his side forgotten, Ban stepped into his first cast. He had dabbled in magic the same as he had dabbled in a multitude of other fleeting interests, but he'd proven particularly adept at it. And it was something to keep his father silent; a mage in the family was amazingly respectable even if the particular mage wasn't.

Stop. Bram, stop! He couldn't actually do this. The stupidest of ideas popped into his mind, and wouldn't let go. He was about to kill his brother on his wedding day...his brother was turning into a monster, and was going to kill him… His last coherent thought was perhaps the most foolish… I wish I'd paid more attention in class and then Bram closed the distance with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Evelyn sat downstairs, on the same chair she had just hours earlier, but without Ban. It was not a loss she would have normally noticed, Ban had it within him to be one of the most annoying people she'd ever met, but this night didn't feel like a night be alone. And oddly, she would rather have Ban, with his sword and spells and willingness to throw in a fight, beside her that night than to have Bram. Ban would deal with a problem well before Bram truly grasped that there was a problem. He left her with a loaded pistol, and… she slid the black velvet box from her pocket, emeralds. She placed them in her ears, why, she wasn't certain, but they felt almost safe. Almost as if Ban was there through them. Ban. Bram. Where were they? Why had she turned down Ban's offer to leave the mastiff behind? Why had she let him go at all?

"Going to be a sight for your wedding." She muttered, standing to move to the brandy that Ban had been drinking. She poured some in the snifter that Ban had left behind and returned to the chair, settling down to drink. They'd be back soon. They'd be back soon….

A scream rent the silence, close by, and she froze in place. Another followed, and she looked at the pistol sitting on the table beside her. What had seemed like Ban's foolishness now seemed entirely too prudent. He'd locked every door and window… she'd be safe… in spite of the screaming and the rising voices in the streets. He'd be back, soon.

 

 

Ban came to. There was no other way to describe it, he'd felt this way a multitude of times. It always came after a night of hard drinking, and this had all the earmarks of the end of a truly good time. His stomach tossed. He felt like he was chewing on a wool blanket. And his head was ready to cave in at any moment. Even the cold, hard floor beneath him worked, all of the best ended somewhere he shouldn't be.

As he focused, the familiarity wore off. His shoulder throbbed with a bitter, burning pain that made it difficult to breathe through. He felt feverish, and his hands shook. The air stank of blood, and that was never an earmark of a truly good time. He was on the floor of the warehouse, also never the ending point of a truly good time. "What the…?" He muttered, sitting up. His shoulder screamed dissent, but by then he'd gotten enough of a look at his surroundings to push it away. Bram was dead, close enough to reach out and touch, his eyes open and empty. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in his appearance except for the obvious. He was dead. Glory was dead, torn apart as her littermate was.

"Noooooo….." Ban hissed, shaking his head. Not happening. This was not happening. He was a murderer. He'd killed his own brother. There was no coming back from that….

A series of harsh screams jolted him out of his reverie and he surged shakily to his feet. Evelyn. He'd left Evelyn at home alone, and things were direly bad. The pistol was empty, tossed aside, but he still had the sword.

"Father?" He asked the warehouse, and received no answer. A howl pierced the night outside, more screams followed, and Ban nodded. No answer meant…no answer. If his father was sane, he was no longer here, and Ban was going to do a rare sane thing and leave as well. "Bram…I'm….sorry." He breathed, backing away from the carnage. When he was a few strides away, he spun, his greatcoat swaying behind him as he strode towards the door.

He emerged into seething chaos. The streets were filled with panicked people, and desperate guards. "What the…?" Something was terribly wrong, beyond what he just left behind him.

"Banastre Russell!"

There was something that Ban never expected to see in the warehouse district, ever. Something he'd never expected to see out at whatever hour this was… still dark, was all that Ban was certain of. "Your highness?" He asked warily, still fresh off of murder. The last person he wanted to see right then was the crown prince, but there he was, bold as day. Liam Greymane, shining, glorious, awake and right in the thick of things.

"Where are you going?" Liam shouted over the din, and Ban fought the urge to grab his ears. Didn't the man notice the blood? Ban had been painted with it, but the prince's gaze flowed over the splashes as if they were not even there.

"I left my brother's fiancée alone when I came to look for him… I need to make my way back home…"

"Sorry, I need you on the line here. Your home is still safe, so far. But here, no. We have to hold for the evacuation…"

Evacuation? What evacuation? What in the hell was going on? Any chance of a stealthy flight from the city seemed to be completely out of the question. "What….?" He managed, but Liam pointed, and there were no doubts. Those were the same things that Bram had turned into, only these came in a mass and not alone.

"You're a mage, Banastre! For Gilneas!"

A mage in the broadest of terms only, it had been work to study, and Ban avoided most work… but that tide of death rolling towards him was an incentive he'd rarely had to deal with. "What!" He repeated, and Liam laughed, as mirthless a laugh as Ban had ever heard.

"Worgen, Banastre. Those are worgen, where the hell have you been tonight to not know that they're here?"

In my warehouse, killing my brother. Maybe it was a defense…the guards, and the prince, seemed to have no qualms about killing them. "I've been unconscious."

"Eh?" That got the prince's attention with a sudden hawk like focus that Ban didn't appreciate. "Why?"

Why, indeed. The pounding headache was probably the first clue…and his hand was wet when he rested his fingers on the worst pain. "I hit my head against a crate." He offered, holding his bloodied fingers up. It was a pathetic attempt, but Liam seemed willing to accept it under the circumstances.

"Fine, go kill worgen!"

Ban nodded, as if he had any choice. They were here, and didn't look like they could be reasoned with. As for the rest of it, he'd figure it out later. Maybe the burning in his shoulder was something completely unrelated…maybe he really was that lucky. Lucky. He laughed, but the noise was swallowed in the bellows of the prince's guards, that one's clarion call to arms and the din of his own spells when he started into his casting.

How long it lasted, Ban wasn't certain, but he understood they'd been pushed far back. "Fine job, Banastre. Go find your brother's fiancée and move her back to the military quarter. That's where we are trying to gather the civilians. I will meet you there." Liam clapped him on the shoulder, and it was all Ban could do to hold a straight face and not flinch. The pain was worse. The burning, worse. And the fever now undeniable.

Go home. Get Evelyn. Check it out, it's probably nothing. Shards from the crate.

"Thank you, your Highness." He breathed and broke into a jagged run. Everything hurt now, not just his shoulder. But there were men on the line who looked worse, he was just fine. He would be just fine, when all of this stopped.

 

 

 

The world had gone insane, and Evelyn had a front row view of it through the window. Panicked people, flowing in terror. City guards hard pressed to maintain any sort of order whatsoever. And a blatant current of despair. What in the hell was going on out there? Ban had been gone for hours, and every second ticked by with agonizing sloth.

There was the sudden bang on the door and her heart dropped. There was some sort of evacuation going on, but it didn't seem very safe on those streets, and Ban had promised. He'd be back. A quick glance out of the curtains proved he was as good as his word, and she yanked the door open. He nearly fell into the foyer, and she hissed when she got her first good look at him. She'd cleaned up more than a few Ban mishaps, usually from an inn brawl, but he'd left looking dapper and normal, and returned looking like hell. His greatcoat was soaked with blood, there was more in his hair, and he looked ill in a way she'd never seen him. Even when he was on his knees from too much brandy, he looked healthier than this.

"Ban, where's….?"

He said nothing for a long moment, and then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Evelyn. It's chaos out there, but I am certain… Bram is gone."

She bit her lip, took a deep breath. All he had just done was confirm the worst. Bram had been gone for hours, much longer than Ban. Ban was a bad pence that just kept turning back up, but Bram had no ability to flow with tumult. He was gone. Dead. But Ban wasn't.

"Off with the coat." She ordered, and he grimaced.

"Evelyn…"

"Don't you 'Evelyn' me. Off with the coat." It was something to do. Something to focus on. Something to keep reality away. He carefully shrugged out of the coat, and let it fall to the floor. "Keep going." She grumbled, and he sighed, gingerly unbuttoning what had once been a flawless white silk shirt and dropping it on top of his coat. "What the hell, Ban?" She demanded, and he shuddered. "You've been bitten. It's not bad… your coat took the worst of it." He'd been wearing a caped greatcoat, tailored by the finest craftsmen in Gilneas. At the point on his shoulder where he'd been bitten, there were two, if not three, separate layers of heavy wool lined in silk. "Looks like it wanted your neck."

He made a noncommittal noise, his gaze locked on the window. "Get it patched up, Evelyn. No time to make a fuss over it."

She shrugged, got the bandages, and began to wind them tight. This was unusual, every other time Ban had come home bitten, the attacker had been human. This had to have been a massive mastiff; the bite radius was bigger than her outstretched hand. And it had indeed been going for his neck. He was lucky to be alive. She wasn't going to ask…so many questions. No Glory, no Bram, it was bad. "What's going on, Ban?" She finally got the nerve to ask. He was sick. She could feel the heat rising from him. He'd been perfectly, disgustingly healthy just a couple of hours ago, and now he felt like death warmed over. The bite was shallow, but inflamed, and it was much too early for the rising red streaks moving down his back.

"Worgen. There are worgen in the streets." He finally admitted and she froze, staring at his shoulder.

"You've been bitten." She breathed. "Ban, we have to get you to a priest!"

"No time for it, Evelyn. Like you said, my coat took the brunt of it… and Bram said it was a waste of money."

"You're insane." She accused, and he shrugged, picking up his coat again.

"No, Evelyn. Tonight, everyone else is." He muttered, struggling to get back into it. "I promise. I'll see the first priest we find, on my word. Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

The streets were in a panic, but Ban's grip on her hand was steel. For a little one, he'd always been inordinately strong. He cut his way through the tide, dragging her along behind him…headed straight for….

Evelyn tried to slow his progress when she realized he was moving straight towards the crown prince standing defiantly on a hastily erected set of breastworks blocking the street. "Ban, that's the prince…" She muttered, and he only chuckled in response.

"I noticed. Been standing beside him since I got out of the warehouse. He's under the delusion that I'm a mage…but his guards are the best, they're here, and they'll keep you safe."

And Liam certainly seemed pleased to see them…his intent face lightening somewhat when his gaze fell upon them. "Banastre!" He greeted, not bothering to coat the relief in his tone. "And Miss Whittaker! Grand!" He reached down at the same time that Ban pulled her forward, and before she quite grasped it, she was over the breastwork. Ban hopped up after her, still graceful in spite of his illness, and followed her into the relative safety of Liam's guards. She took a look around, but none of them appeared to be priests, or any other sort of healer. And they all looked as they had been chewed up and coughed out… Ban didn't look as bad by comparison.

"Banastre." It was odd to hear the name that Ban had always eschewed, and odder to hear it from the crown prince's lips and by the expression on Ban's face, he agreed. He schooled his expression back into bland normalcy as he turned to face Liam.

"Your highness?"

"Watch our back; we will need to move soon."

"Yes, your highness."

They came less than half an hour later, and Evelyn's heart plummeted. Even with the panic on the streets, the chaos, and the oddly focused feel coming off of Ban, she wasn't expecting this. "Your highness!" He barked, a completely unfamiliar command and grating sound in his voice, "They come!"

"I see them, Banastre!" Liam ground out, equally as harsh.

They swept around the corner, great canine monsters towering over men, all teeth, claws and burning feral eyes. They killed with ease, climbed like bats. She'd heard of them, of course, there were a few cases of the infection on the Wall every year, but this…this was more than the most detailed of those tales. Coming right at her, with the promise of her death in their glowing yellow eyes.

Ban stood, and suddenly gestured at them with an open hand. His magely studies were a joke to Bram, who had been content to write them off as just another waste of Ban's time. No one had ever suggested, hinted, that Ban had any true talent, least of all, Ban. But there was an eye burning flash of bright, rainbow pure light and a hollow sound of power from that gesture. The first three worgen in the torrent staggered, snarled, and fell…followed immediately by the three behind them as Ban went into a second cast right out of the gesture. He was a mage. A true mage. Why had he hidden this? His expression was the unbending lock of a man standing his ground, all of the dandified gentry she was so used to wiped completely away. She'd known him all of her life, and it was as if that was the first time she'd ever truly seen him.

He stood like a champion of Gilneas, unbowed, and none of those around him seemed at all surprised. He stood until that onslaught was over, his eyes warily rising to the roofs above him. "Your highness."

"I know, Master Russell. Here is not a place to hold." Liam's eyes went upwards as well, the worgen climbed with strength and power, and once on that high ground, became death from above. "We've held as long as we can. Time to pull back."

Pull back. Evelyn wanted to sigh, cry or simply scream. Now that his attention could lapse, Ban looked all the worse… his dark hair made the graying of his skin all the more obvious. He was now blatantly sick, and Liam gave him a wary stare in response. "You, Master Russell, do not look so well."

"I'll take care of him. He was sick before…" Why she lied, she was not certain, but it fell off of her lips like it was the truth. If they suspected, they would cut him down here… There had to be a priest somewhere. And even a bad priest could be bribed, she had Bram's engagement ring on her finger and Ban's emeralds in her ears.

"Yes. Sick before." Ban was always a fine liar, and was now too ill to need much of an acting job. "I just need… a moment. To catch my breath." He was breathing hard, and it refused to calm back down. "I'll go with Evelyn back towards the evacuation point. There are healers there…?"

There had better be, that was all Evelyn knew. And thankfully, Liam nodded in assent. Yes. Healers. Ban wasn't infected, he was just…ill. Too much brandy, too much stress, the bite was very mild. And by now, as she understood it, most would have already Changed. Ban was fine. Ban was always fine. "Of course, Master Russell. Miss Whittaker. I will see you there."

"Come, Banastre." She muttered, slinging his uninjured arm over her shoulder. Thankfully he wasn't a big one, or this would never work. She moved with him down the alleyway that Liam had indicated, but the moment they turned a bend, Ban's steps staggered. As she suspected, he was sicker than he'd been letting on… he wouldn't make it to any fall back point. And there was still the threat from their own people…if they had even a hint that he'd been bitten, it would be all over.

"Can't, Evelyn. You need to keep going…"

"Hush, damned fool." She hissed, reaching out to try the nearest door knob. It turned easily, opening into the modest foyer of a darkened home. "In. These should have been evacuated already."

"Evelyn…"

"I know. You've been bitten. Get in." They couldn't stay up here. If they were seen, more helpful Gilnean guards would come to enforce the evacuation… where was the cellar door? "You are all I have left, Ban." She growled while her eyes adjusted to the gloom. "There. The cellar door." Tucked in beneath the stairs…she grasped its pull and yanked. Unrelieved darkness met her eyes and she frowned. "Stay. I don't want you falling and breaking your neck." He growled in dissent, but remained still when she released him. She fumbled to the bottom of the stairs, cautiously touching until she found the lantern at the bottom of the steps. It lit easily, and she held it out, warily checking every nook and corner of the damp cellar. Nothing. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, and no exterior bulkhead or windows. It didn't get any better than this. She nodded, pleased, and rested the lantern on the floor while she went up to collect Ban again. He'd sat on the top of the stairs, his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands. He looked small, swallowed in his greatcoat like a child wearing his father's clothes. "Come on, Ban." She urged, taking his hand and giving it a small tug. He gave in easily, standing awkwardly and following her down. "No." She disagreed when he moved to sit on a pile of moldy burlap sacks…the only cushioning in sight. Once he went down, she'd never get him up again, and she didn't want him down on those. "I'll bring blankets from upstairs. They're cleaner."

"Hurry then." He muttered, pulling his arms up under the cape of his greatcoat and huddling miserably. "I feel dizzy. Not sure how much longer I can stand."

She nodded, moving up the stairs and into the house. It was much smaller than the Russell home, and she found the beds quite easily…by running into them. She gathered every blanket and pillow, dragging them along and down into the cellar. She piled them up, and turned to Ban. "Give me the coat."

"Cold." He whined, and she sighed.

"Give me the coat, Ban." She repeated, and he reluctantly squirmed out of it and handed it over. He had never bothered to put on another shirt, the only thing he wore beneath were the bandages she'd used. They were stained dark with blood, much more than such small punctures should have oozed, and she cursed silently. "Lay down."

He didn't have to be told twice, sinking down in the makeshift bed. "Cold, Evie." He repeated in the voice of a child, and she fought to keep her face calm. He was burning up, she could feel his fever radiating from where she stood, but he claimed to be chilled. She tucked blankets over him and settled down next to him, resting his head on her thigh. It seemed like the moment he let himself stop, it consumed him, going from focused and upright to delirium in a manner of minutes.

"Sorry, Evie." He muttered after an hour of pointless, lost phrases, and she smoothed his hair. "So damned sorry."

"What for, Ban?"

"Bram. I killed Bram. I'm so sorry."

What? She glanced at him, but his eyes were still closed. His breathing still labored and shallow. He was still not awake or aware of his words. "Ban, I'm sure that's not so." She whispered. What was he going on about? Everything before this, she had understood. She'd known Ban her entire life…but this?

"Did." He muttered thickly, turning his face into her hand. "He came at me. He bit me, and I….killed him. Didn't mean to."

Bram. Had bitten his younger brother. She glanced down at Ban's chest, still swathed with bandages. Bram had been gone for hours, without a word because…. He'd already run into trouble. He'd been infected, and he'd attacked Ban. She felt a sudden upwelling of rage, and none of it focused on the man with her. She was going to lose Ban, because of Bram. Lose them both. This night. Ban couldn't survive this; every moment that passed drove that further and further home. He struggled to breathe. He was drenched in sweat, but his fever refused to break.

"I forgive you, Ban. Just don't…"

He opened stunned, gray eyes and stared at her. "Don't what, Evie?"

"Leave me."

He reached up and grasped her hand. "I'd never leave you, Evie." He chuckled, but she was aware that was a promise he might not have the ability to keep.

"Get some sleep, Ban." She sighed, resting her hand across his brow. Why wouldn't it break? She'd go looking for medicines, but the chances she'd be found were too high. He'd just have to be his normal, stubborn self and pull through on his own.

"Damnation." Evelyn was startled out of a restless doze by Ban's annoyed proclamation, and she opened her eyes blearily. He stood close by, upright, healthy, back in this coat, and looking as perturbed as she seen him since this started.

"What is it, Ban?" She demanded, stiffly coming to her feet.

"I've gone and broken my watch." He extended his hand with the offending watch in it, and the crystal was most certainly shattered. Like everything else that he owned, it was only the best, a small fortune in gold and watch works.

"You damn near die of the fever and complain of breaking a watch." She hissed, and he gave her a lopsided grin when she placed a hand on his brow. He was cool to the touch. His color was back. His eyes were level and comprehending. His fever had broken, and he seemed none the worse for the wear. This was the Ban she was accustomed to.

"Sorry." He replaced the shattered watch in his pocket, "I was looking for this…" he pulled out his flask, "And found the remains of my watch." He held up his hand, a new crimson pearl of blood forming on it, "The sharp way. This is just not my night."

"The city is overrun by worgen, you sit at death's door, and it's not your night because you prick your finger on a shard of glass. You are incorrigible, Banastre Russell."

He grinned, flexed his shoulder, nodded. "I'm fine, Evelyn. Well…" he glanced up, "As fine as I'm going to be until I either get you out of this city, or the worgen out of it. I'd prefer the latter, but I'm not too terribly choosy right now. We need to go."

Evelyn grinned in relief. He was back. He was fine. It was not the end of the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Ban had rarely felt better, in spite of the circumstances. It was always a fine thing to be healthy again after an illness, and that had been the worst he could remember having. He should feel worn, pale, but he felt just fine. It was still very late, or very early, depending on what one preferred. It was still darker than the bottom of well outside, and he could still hear and feel the movements of the city guards and the stealthier, teeth grating progress of the worgen in the streets beyond. He needed to get Evelyn, and yes, himself, out of here.

"Let's go, Evelyn." He sighed. Where had Liam gotten to? He'd always have the finest guards attached to him, and it had been a good thing to stand with the Prince. Now, Ban had no clue what he was coming up into, but all odds said it was bad. Evelyn only nodded silently, falling into step so closely behind him that her skirts melded with the panels of his coat.

It was not as bad as he'd feared; the streets in this area were now mostly silent. There were bodies everywhere, but they were beyond his help and he forced himself to ignore them. He needed to get out of the city. Into the open, where he could see them coming. Once these streets and their buildings had felt like an embrace, now they felt like an oppressive threat. His home, his city, his life, would never feel the same again. It had been torn open and left to hemorrhage.

"This way." He decided. Liam would try to hold the main boulevards, the pathways to the four great bridges, open as long as he could. It was the only way to effect as large an evacuation as possible. If he could make it onto one of those, their chances improved greatly.

And oddly, luck was with them. Not only could they make it to one, they came out right behind Liam's group trying to hold the area where two of them came together. "Master Russell! Miss Whittaker!" That one greeted, and there was little faked about his relief. "Found a healer, I see. Good. Good. Need you on your toes and ready to go. A fine mage will make all the difference in the world here. If we can just keep things going until dawn…" He glanced up into the sky, and Ban understood that. They were still a good two or three hours until daybreak, and this night, that was forever.

"We need to keep the worgen inside of the city, your Highness. A distraction to hold their attention while the evacuation is completed and the gates are locked down." Ban recognized the speaker; most in Gilneas would, even if he'd no call to socialize with him. Darius Crowley was trouble that Ban didn't want any real part of. Ban's troublemaking was gambling, spending, alcohol and the occasional young lady. Crowley's trouble was dissention edging perilously close to treason. It was the flavor of trouble that got one gaoled, and when the Crown's patience wore thin, executed. Ban avoided any sort of trouble that wouldn't go away with the judicious application of gold coins, and Crowley's troubles certainly qualified. But the man was a skilled fighter and right now, he was a Gilnean man. That worked to pardon most sins this night.

"I can't spare many, Darius." Liam sighed. "And I won't ask them. You will. And they volunteer, or they don't go at all."

Darius glanced at the younger man, his king's son, and then back at the city beyond. "Right. Volunteers." There was an edge of dismay in his voice, and Ban shifted uncomfortably. Crowley was correct, Ban could feel it. The worgen would course the evacuees out of the city. Their only hope was to hold them in, get as many out, lock the gates and grind them down in this maze. He glanced at Evelyn, and then placed his fingers on his shoulder. He'd been bitten. Afflicted. And even his recovery was unnatural. The sight of the moon filled him with a rush of joy and he felt little fear or concern. He would be fooling himself if he didn't face the truth, right then. Evelyn was the only survivor this night, and he had to face that reality. And make it truly so.

"I will go with you, Lord Crowley."

"What!" Evelyn howled, and he set his jaw. She was the last one he needed to listen to, if he did, she would sway him.

"Banastre Russell." Crowley marveled, his gaze measuring. "Odd, I would have thought you'd be among the first evacuated…"

"I will hear none of this, Crowley!" Liam spat angrily, and earned himself the same measuring gaze. "Master Russell has stood this night. He has done us proud. He has done Gilneas proud."

"I see. One of those who needed a push to put him in a place where he needed to fight. I can accept that. And I will accept his aid, your highness. We fight for Gilneas." His eyes focused on Evelyn. "And for our people."

Ban nodded slowly. Once the decision had been made, it all became so clear. So calming. "Evelyn. Go." His voice was amazingly even, strong. No doubts.

"Ban, you are not a hero!" She hissed, ignoring the steady gazes of the three men surrounding her. Liam had it. Crowley. And he was certain he did as well. "You're, you're…" There was panicked denial in her eyes. "All I have left."

"Evelyn. Go." He repeated slowly, and she locked a furious gaze on him.

"Banastre. You damnable fool. You're a coward. All you've ever done is hide, hide! And now you think you're a hero! You're not."

And she was utterly correct in that. Banastre was no hero. But he was a Gilnean. And he knew when to fight, and that when was right then. "Evelyn. I'm not going to argue this. I've made up my mind."

Her jaw set, her eyes flicking between Liam and Crowley in a last vain hope of support. "Damn you, Ban. If you do this…" She pulled one of the emerald earrings from her ears and motioned at him. He sighed, shook his head, and kneeled. Bram had laughed when Ban had started sporting a hoop in an ear, called him effeminate, but Evelyn tossed the hoop away and replaced it with the emerald.

"Those cost a fortune." He sighed, and she damn near spat on him in response. "You're going to look odd wearing only one of them." He continued, out of a sense of perversion, and she glared.

"Then you better bring it back!"

He nodded slowly, standing, and removing his coat. Crowley only raised a brow in response, eying the bandages and bruises. "It's going to be cold, Evelyn." And she was dressed only in her nightgown still. There was no way to measure how long it was going to be before they had supplies and support for their evacuees. The coat was a mess, it stank of blood and an odd, acrid overlay that he couldn't identify, but it was still warm.

She took it, her expression still enraged, but she had no words for him. No words for Liam when he grasped her shoulder and turned her away. "Lord Crowley?" He asked and the man nodded.

"We have cannon at the Cathedral. We stand there, as long as we can."

Ban climbed the steps to the Cathedral, head low. In a correct world, he would have indeed been in here this morning, attired in his best shad belly coat and finest brocade vest, a foam of cravat at his throat. Not wrapped in bandages and stained in blood, stinking of sweat and desperation.

He moved through the door, Crowley on his heels, and touched one of the bouquets at the pew end. Crowley stared at him, and he shrugged. "My brother was to have married today. My mother and aunt placed these here…"

There were no words to answer that, and Crowley didn't even try. His only answer was a sharp nod of comprehension, and a motion to a pile of long rifles in the corner. Ban chose one, loaded it, and settled to wait.

The cannons spoke, a thick booming, and the air outside filled with the sounds of dying wolves. "How much ammunition do we have?" He asked morbidly, and Crowley laughed in answer, which was all the answer he needed. Not enough to do much more than attract attention, and from the howling, snarling and growling, they had plenty enough of that. He nodded, lifting the long arm to his shoulder, and waited.

They came, shattering the windows, and he took the shot. It was, as always, good….and then the smell of enraged worgen hit him, the same odd acrid scent that had clung to his coat. The moonlight pooled on the floor around him, illuminating his dark hair, and he stepped into casting stance.

Cast. Just….cast. It was as if that part of his soul had suddenly been yanked from him, and all he could was stare in stunned disbelief at his hand. First, because no magic flowed, and secondly as it deformed before his eyes.

"Russell!" Crowley snarled, leveling a long arm straight at him, his face granite. That made sense when few things wanted to, and Ban charged him. The shot rang in his ears, fire burned in his abdomen, and he swept the rifle from the man's grasp with a strength he could not comprehend. Crowley was shrinking, growing smaller, less impressive, nothing to fear or even respect. There were no words, only growls and snarls as Banastre brought his weight to overbear him, and the taste of his blood was thick, rich and right….

He was falling. Plummeting. Dying. The world shrinking and growing dark around him. Evelyn.


	6. Chapter 6

The air was thick with the promise of more snow as the figures moved through the heavy fog. Each of the four riders was bundled in coats, mittens, mufflers. Each rode a sturdy Gilnean cob. Each was heavily armed, and had the leash of a coupled set of hunting mastiffs attached to their saddles.

Evelyn Whittaker, the second of the riders, measured the sky warily. More bad weather made it all the less feasible to stay in this area. They should push south, of the Headlands, and deeper into Gilneas. The snow was already edging towards too deep to hunt, but Gilneas proper was something she wanted to avoid. Her companions were losing patience with her, and she understood their stance. She sighed, the sound lost in the heavy woolen muffler obscuring the bottom half of her face. She couldn't avoid Greymane for much longer, and she knew it. What had started as a request was probably already an order edging towards a demand. Return to the capital. Leave the Headlands, and speak to the King.

The village came into sight, and she relaxed slightly. The worgen in the Headlands were the most cunning and vicious of them, which was precisely why she was where she was. But the hunting grew poor as the snow grew deeper. The snow loved the worgen, and they loved it, able to move like shadows in its flurries and drifts.

But it was time to come in, shelter, eat, bathe and sleep. She'd worry about the rest of it in the morning.

The air was heavy with the promise of more snow, and the great dog worgen sniffed warily, shifting his body and flicking his wedge ears. The right one was adorned with the long forgotten glint of green and platinum, barely visible through his coat.

Snow was good. It would keep the large black one at bay, for a little while longer at least. That was something that needed dealing with, but that was something he would consider in the morning, if the snow had ceased….

He ducked into his den, and curled up on his plaid horse blanket in contentment. He'd fed recently. He was warm. He was comfortable.

He was well asleep when snuffling at the den mouth startled him out of sleep. He responded with a thick, weighty snarl…had the black one followed him? Was he pinned down in his den, vulnerable? No. He recognized the scent. While it was indeed another dog worgen, it was not that one, this one was safe. He knew this one, and had…as long as he could remember. It was the one eyed one. He inched out from his den, into the brilliant day, curious, following the one eyed one over the snow.

The other male crouched, sniffing cautiously, and he did as well, raising a lip at the harsh smell of iron. A trap. Did the one eyed one really think he was foolish enough to find his way into one of these? This was a new one, placed very recently, meant he should lay low for awhile… as if the pressure of the large black male trying to assert dominance in the area wasn't reason enough.

"We kill." The one eyed one snarled thickly, and he flicked an ear in thought. "I hide. Here." The one eyed one slithered under a snow covered bush just downwind of the trap. "You fast. Fastest of us all. You run him here. Over trap. We kill then. New trap. New snow. He won't see."

The idea had possibilities. It was better than hiding and whining. This was their lands, their territory. They were the males here. Not the interloper. He snorted in agreement, stretching. While truthfully, he was the fastest of the worgen in this territory, the great black one was fast as well. He needed to be able to run as he'd never run before. And he'd have to trust the one eyed one to stay. He sneezed, nodded, and loped off, mind made up. It was time to run.

It was remarkably easy to find the black one; his contempt for authority also appeared to extend towards the hunters that patrolled the area. It was almost worth waiting, but as the snow deepened, the hunters hunted less. The shadowed, bluish male took a stance on the highest ground overlooking the black male's den and coughed out a raw challenge. He waited just long enough to make certain the challenge had been taken before he spun and ran…pushing his long and lanky body to its utmost. No looking back. Just run.

He ran so hard that only the warning yip of the one eyed one reminded him of the trap and he launched himself into a great leap at the last moment. The huge black on his back paws was not as graceful, and had no warning. He stepped into the trap, it sprung, and the day filled with yowls of pain and rage. The blue male stopped his forward progress by rolling into a ball and sliding over the snow, as the one eyed one boiled out of his hiding place.

"Worthless!" The black snarled. "Cowards!"

The blue male closed his ears to the insults and moved in. The black might be pinned in a trap, but he still had teeth and claws. If left alone, he'd gnaw off his own paw, and still come after them. He had to die, now. They were in too deeply.

He watched the one eyed one out of the corner of his eye, waiting. They hunted together often, and this was no different. He leapt the moment he saw the bunch and flow of muscles under that one's dark coat and the two males hit their rival from opposite sides. The woods were silent, uncaring, as the two of them ripped into him and left him for dead. They faded away into the trees, the long blue one headed back for his den and his horse blanket, the one eyed one headed back into the area where the trees faded and the rocks took dominion…to where his den was.

There was a letter waiting when Evelyn came down to breakfast and she stared at it in disgust. She didn't need to turn it over to see the royal seal. "Might as well open it." Donnelley noted, and she turned to stare at him. Why, when she already knew what it said?

"Not interested in royal summons." She stated, and he stared back. "Here is where we've got worgen. Like that big black bastard who's moved into the area. Do you really want to try and that take that one alive?"

"No." He admitted slowly. The men hunting with her had become harder to deal with when the bounty on living worgen was announced. Twice what the crown was paying for dead; she'd been forced to make up the difference from her own pocket to keep the men happy. And now the crown wanted to halt kill hunting in certain areas, like this one. Make it live capture only. What foolishness was that? "But I don't want to be gaoled for defying an order of the crown either, Evelyn. We aren't all wealthy like some here are…"

"I, Banastre Russell, being of sound mind and body, do hereby put forth this, my last will and testament… I leave all of my worldly possessions to Evelyn Whittaker…" Ban, the ne'er do well, the dandelion fluff in the wind, had been the one with the legally binding will. If it wasn't for him, she'd be penniless, out on the streets, scraping by. Not invested with the money and property of the Russell family. Bram had died intestate. Their mother and aunt, dead, their bodies strewn with the flowers and ribbons they'd been working on for her wedding. Their father had left everything to the boys…Bram, confirmed dead when his corpse had been recovered from the warehouse, torn into shreds by a worgen hours after he'd died. There'd been enough to identify beyond a shadow of a doubt. And to Ban…everyone knew what had happened to those who had stood at the Cathedral. His body had not been found. He'd already been bitten hours before the stand. He was one of the Afflicted; she could feel in her soul. He ran these woods, and she was the only one with the right to handle him. Not another hunter. Not the crown. And certainly not the Royal Chemist, looking for worgen to experiment upon.

In the beginning, the crown had been an invaluable source of support and information. They had agreed that the worgen were a problem that needed to go away. But lately, they'd been a stumbling block. And now they were a brick wall.

"The black dog in the area." She had to keep them focused on that. Keep their outrage boiling. That one needed to die, and die soon. The crown had been correct; the worgen in this area had been fairly easy to deal with. Wild, spooky, as likely to take game as bloodstock, and human attacks had been exceedingly rare. Overall, they'd been just another large predator, wary, cunning, but if one closed the mind to the fact that they had once been human, once been Gilnean, not that difficult to live with. But this one was a monster, going out of its way to target civilians.

"Yes, Evelyn. That one needs to go. But after we get him, we acknowledge the royal summons."

She frowned, sneered, but understood. They were unyielding on this, it was over for now. She shrugged into her coat, a man's caped greatcoat, its gray wool stained green in spots, an ovoid of puncture frays arrayed on the shoulder. The sharp, walnut smell of a dog worgen still clung to it, after all this time, after all the washings. Now she knew what the smell was, but then she hadn't. And now that smell puzzled many worgen just long enough for her to get the first shot off unmolested.

"Fine." She agreed, lifting her hat off of the table next to her and standing. It had stopped snowing; it was time to start working.

There were worgen tracks in the snow, and Evelyn puzzled over them. Two? She lifted eyes to Donnelley standing over her, he was the tracker. She was the money and the guns.

"Two." He confirmed, kneeling next to her and scrutinizing them. "One… a big runner. Has a stride unlike any I've seen, damn near twenty five feet… and he's going all out. But he's a lightweight, barely breaks the snow in places." He rested fingers in the shallower track. "Not the black dog we're after. But this one…" His fingers went knuckle deep into the other, larger track. "Big dog. Heavy. Black…there's coat snag in some of these bushes. Chasing the other one. I'd say we've got fairly fresh tracks on what we're looking for." He glanced over his shoulder, "They went that way."

Evelyn nodded, and remounted the grey cob she rode, turning him to move down the path of the tracks. She wanted eyes on every worgen in Gilneas. They still had some resemblance to the people they had been. She would recognize Ban. She would know. And when it was over, she would bring his remains back to Gilneas City, and lay him to rest in the same Cathedral he had stood his last moments as a man in. With his father. His mother. His brother. It would be over, and she could weep then.

They were drawing close to one the traps they had laid yesterday and she frowned. The packs in this area were usually more cunning than this…to have any of the males here actually fall for a trap was luck she had not considered. Unfortunately, if the lighter, thinner, faster male had been the one in front, he was probably the one to have triggered it. And he was not the one she was after.

There was a mound on the trap, its color a dark blot on the snowy landscape. It was also massive, and unmoving. Donnelley dismounted well away from it and she followed suit, cocking the locks on her double barreled coaching rifle. "We have the black dog, Evelyn." He finally stated, and she moved warily up. It was dead, but not from the trap. Its throat had been torn out, and the bitter smell of dog urine hung in the air. It had been marked, multiple times, the urine freezing onto its dark coat.

"Ambushed." Donnelley finally stated. "The runner got him going, moving, too fast to correct for the trap." He moved in an ever enlarging circle from the trap. "There was another dog here, in hiding, here. When he sprung the trap, both of the other dogs attacked him."

And that was why they were so damned dangerous. Glimmers of their past intelligence shone through all too often. And she mourned every time she was faced with this. Ban had possessed a brilliant mind, sliding like quicksilver, if any still held any shred of what they had been; would he not be one of them? Two worgen had just ambushed another. It had been planned, considered, plotted with cunning foresight. And she was supposed to just be happy that they'd done her work, and retreat back to the capital to listen to the crown tell her to stop killing. She growled, resting her fingers on the corpse, just for a second. Not Ban. This was not Ban. It was just another dead dog, one the world was better off without.

It was always a slap in the face to return home, and Evelyn tried to do it as rarely as possible. It might be easier if things had changed, but she was loathe to change anything. The house had remained set in time, the same as it had been that fateful night. She still slept in the same small bedroom she had been given so long ago, down the hall from the larger rooms of the boys and the master bedroom once used by the man who it had seemed would be her father in law. They were all gone now. She sighed, dropping her coat on the bed. The only place that was different was Ban's room, much as she tried to keep it intact. But he'd had the guns. The ammo. And the clothes that fit her, and survived chasing the Headlands killing worgen. He had extra copies of the ledgers, shipping manifests, and a full inventory of the warehouse and store. Books and notes on how to run the business he had seemed so disinterested in. Without him, she'd have never made it, and she was all too well aware of that. Those documents, that will, all had made it possible for her to resurrect some level of prosperity from loss.

"Damn." She grumbled, changing into clothes that had once been every day and now felt odd. When was the last time she'd been in a dress? She couldn't remember, and didn't really want to.

She walked the familiar streets of the City, fighting the urge to watch the roofs, to skirt the openings to alleys. That day was long over. The evacuation had been a success, and they had cleared the city afterwards. It was safe. But it would never feel that way again. "I've a summons." She told a guard on duty, he took it from her, glanced at it, and nodded, motioning her to follow. She was taken into a library, lush with books, banked fire, and a heavily patterned rug, and left there for a long moment. She moved to the mantle, leaned against it and stared into the coals, wishing she was anywhere but where she was.

"Good morning, Miss Whittaker."

"Your highness?" That was a voice she wasn't expecting… a royal summons rarely meant that one actually got royalty, but that was Liam and … Her mind went blank, but she had been well trained, and the curtsey was instinctive. "Your majesty." Genn? Here? Why? The king had no business with her, hell; the prince had no business with her.

"We've noted your reluctance to answer our summons." Liam continued, choosing to ignore her fluster. "Please, sit. We'll have breakfast and discuss this."

The table he motioned at was barely large enough to serve as a table, but she took a cautious seat. Liam and Genn sat as well, and the first servant appeared, carrying food.

"You and your men are some of the finest worgen hunters we have." Again, Liam spoke, and again, his father remained silent. "And for that we grateful, but you seem unwilling to work with us lately."

"I still hunt worgen; you just don't want to pay me for that. And now, live capture only? That is insanity!"

"Only in certain, prescribed areas." Again, Liam…his father's only interest appeared to be in the food, and none in the discussion.

"The Northern Headlands just had a truly magnificent example of male worgen incursion. Big, black, and a taste for human flesh as dessert after a meal of the finest bloodstock in Gilneas? That was smack in the middle of one of your prescribed areas."

Liam only nodded, obviously refusing to rise with any form of antagonism to her words. "Yes, I know the one you mean. We put out a kill bounty on that one weeks ago. You would have known that if you'd bother to read the dispatches we've been sending you. Our concern is for the other two male worgen in the area, those are not kill bounties."

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. Two male worgen? Certainly she knew there were two, the long, lean runner and the other dog that had been in hiding. Both showed strong hints of intelligence. Both evaded traps with a contemptuous ease. Their only saving graces so far had been that they had decided to rid themselves of a rival male and a fairly marked taste for venison over mutton. They moved together, hunted together, and had obviously plotted the other dog's downfall.

"I know the pair." She finally admitted, but how did Liam?

"Miss Whittaker, I want to be candid here." He sighed. "I think by now you know we're attempting a cure."

"Of course." That had been a promise from the beginning; Liam had sworn that the Greymane family did not abandon its citizenry during this time, even those who had fallen to the Affliction. And she believed him. He had stood then. Genn had stood then. They'd been on the streets, fighting, not untouchable and protected.

"It's rather difficult to cure them, Miss Whittaker, when you insist upon killing them."

That had a truth that could not be denied, and she silently stared at her plate. She had no answer for that, except that she would not see Ban experimented upon like he was some sort of alchemist's rat.

"I saw you with Master Russell that night. He stood to give you a chance to escape the city."

"I know that." She whispered. And somehow, some way, she'd repay him. And the best way seemed to be to let him out of this hell he'd been caught up in. Ban was not an animal. He was lace and silver, the finest things in life, he'd be miserable if he was a…dog, with barely the sense of a mastiff.

"And yet, you are going after him in particular." Liam continued, and she bit her lip against a torrent of responses. "You've paid mages to scry for him…" And still, she had no answer.

"You made a fortune from the downfall of the Russell family." Genn finally spoke, and she was stunned into silence by his words. "Got out of marrying Bram Russell. Got rid of Banastre, who so kindly made you his only beneficiary… If Banastre is cured, I can assure you, as you probably already know, his will is stricken and I will return his fortune…"

"I am not doing this to keep Ban's money!" The tide was breached and Evelyn began hissing in rage. "I would do anything, anything at all to have Ban returned to me! As he was, not as this monster Bram made him become! But I won't see him experimented upon, abused, tortured! I owe him everything and I won't let you do that to him!"

"I give you my word of honor, Miss Whittaker, that we will treat him the best way we can. That he will not be abused. That we will do everything in our power to make good on what you want…Banastre Russell returned to you, as he was. But first, we need to get a hold of him, and a hold of the other male he's with. Both of them need to be treated carefully. Both of them still retain a great amount of humanity, and we want them both… they are heroes of Gilneas, and I will see them treated as such. If I can't trust you to bring in Banastre and Crowley, then I will hold you here and send others. They won't be as good, but they'll try to bring me them back alive."

"Crowley? Lord Crowley?"

"Yes. We're almost certain those are the two males lying low in the Headlands. They stood together at the Cathedral, and they're still standing together."

"Well?" Donnelley demanded, she took her eyes from her drink and stared sourly around at the tavern. Genn was right, if they had Ban identified, and were hell-bent to take him alive, she was going to be the one to do it. She still didn't like it, but that seemed to be how it was.

"We're being sent back to the Headlands under royal writ." She muttered. "We're to take the two dogs that killed the big black. Except we're to take them alive."

"The runner and the ambusher? Neither one of them has been that big of a problem. And honestly, I'd rather not. The small one can run. The bigger one connives. Together, they're just ..." He contented himself with a shudder, and Evelyn knew exactly what he meant. Together the pair of them worked tasks like opening barn doors and helping themselves to mutton. The one had swiped a lamb right out of a shepherdess's grasp without touching her. The local area were willing to put up with them, they had kept worgen migrations out of the area. They qualified as the lesser evil, and Evelyn feared she might lack local support.

"The crown wants them specifically." If only she was certain she had the nerve to actually go back. Could she actually, truly, take Ban if she knew it was him? She had to. It was that simple. No one else was permitted to.

"Why?"

"Heroes of Gilneas." It was odd to consider Ban that, and even odder to realize it fit him. "Two of those who stood at the Cathedral during the evacuation. Top of the list if we get a cure."

"Great. They were stubborn before the Affliction and now they're worgen. We have our work cut out for us."

And that was indeed so. Finding the pair was difficult, the snow had begun to melt before Evelyn and three of the finest trackers in Gilneas got a lens on one of them. It was the long, leggy one… his coat the same color of a steel blue storm cloud, marked with darker points. He leapt gracefully from rock to rock, moving with a rare speed. Ban? Could this actually be Ban? No. This was entirely too content with what it was, too fully immersed in being this grand animal. It had to be Crowley.

Donnelley pulled on her sleeve and pointed. The other was coming up the dip, a large male, much darker and more formidable than the blue leggy one. Crowley. That was Crowley. She had no doubts, especially when it went up on its back legs and strode towards the other one. It even walked like Crowley.

Which again, meant the other should be Ban. She stared back down the spyglass… it had a fine ridge of black ruff, a lithe body, but there was no certainty. Only one way, and that was Genn's way. "We take them. Together." She murmured sub vocally. They'd backed each other up in the past, this was the only way to be certain the other wasn't coming up behind for an ambush.

The round impacted the rock just above the hump of the blue male's shoulder and he bounded into stride, dropping into the cover offered by the dip that the other male had been coming up. How had he missed hunters? He was usually much better than this….

Run. Run with the power and grace that was imbued in every fiber of his being. Nothing could catch him. He was too fast. He could come back behind…support the one eyed male, put these hunters back in their place.

He exploded out of the dip, snarling when another round grazed him. He changed direction, hit the trap, and flipped twice before landing motionless in a snow drift. Pain coursed through his leg, the off rear one, and he snarled in rage. No. He couldn't run like this, the air filled with the scent of his own blood and he howled in misery. The one eyed one yipped a response; he understood and would do what he could. If there was anything. Hope shattered a second later when the much slower, but heavier one howled in pain. No. He flailed, managed to make it to almost upright, then fell again, growling and panting. They let him struggle for a long time, before cautiously approaching. The closest one smelled familiar, like…him. It smelled exactly like him. Not fair. Bad trick.

"Secure Lord Crowley." Evelyn muttered thickly, watching the blue male struggle, but pointing towards where the other had fallen. She could feel Donnelley's surprise, but that should keep him occupied and more worried about the larger, darker male than the other. She approached it slowly, even though it appeared exhausted and wounded, smart worgen were filled with tricks.

"Ban?" It couldn't be. It wasn't. It wasn't over.

It snuffled, whined, and she gazed down at it. "Banastre!" She snapped, and it opened one gray eye to peer at her. It lifted its head slightly, and the sunlight bounced off of the emerald still attached in its ear. The mate to the emerald still in hers.

It was him. Close enough to reach out and touch. She knew better, but couldn't stop, resting her opened hand on his side. He was magnificent, even brought down like this. Awe inspiring. "Banastre!"

"Is it truly him?" Donnelley asked from behind her and the worgen twitched under her hand.

"Truly who?" She asked, smoothing the thick coat down. He whined softly, his eyes closing again.

"The Russell boy. The one you've been looking for all this time. I know the elder died in the Night of Affliction, but the younger didn't…Banastre."

Had she been so obvious? It didn't matter anymore. He was here. "Yes, it's him. Banastre."

The blue male woke, chilled. He had a fine coat, but it was not equal to the damp cold surroundings he came to in. He was wiser than to sleep on a damp, freezing rock floor, prizing his horse blanket, but the hunters did not share that feeling.

"You wake." The one eyed one grumbled from close by and he opened his eyes.

"Cold." He whined softly, and the other male merely grunted in agreement. It was also noisy, a cacophony of yips, howls and threatening growls. And it reeked of too many males in one place, penned and messing without care. He tried to stand, but failed, sinking back to the floor and shuddering. He expected some reaction from the older male, who was often gruff when faced with weakness, but that one remained silent.

"Bad break. Don't try." He finally responded, and the blue male lifted his head to regard the limb. Bad break indeed, but if he didn't get off of the floor, he'd sicken. With that break, he'd probably sicken anyway. The only bright spot appeared to be that he was not in the mass kennel packed by the yelping, howling, stinking mob but in a fairly roomy stall with only the one eyed one to deal with.

"He's cold." A sharp voice noted, and the blue male focused on it. If he tried, very hard, he could puzzle out most human speech. And with the one eyed male, they had retained a level of speech between the pair of them. "No, you told me I would have custody of him. The King promised no abuse. He's cold, he can't stay like this." The voice was strident, female, and somewhere deep in the recesses of his memory, familiar. "This is a barn, where is the straw? And horse blankets?"

Straw. Blanket. He opened his eyes hopefully, and indeed, the feed door to the stall opened cautiously and a pile of horse blankets and several sheaves of clean dry straw were dropped in. It shut quickly and then there was a measuring silence.

"Bah." The one eyed one snorted in amusement, but moved to the sheaves, tore them open and strew them across the floor. "You take." He muttered to the blue male, dropping a couple of the horse blankets on top of him. "No sick, you, yes." And the blue was happy to oblige, concocting as fine a nest as he could with the straw, blankets and agonizingly broken leg.

"They still…speak." Liam marveled from behind Evelyn, and she turned her head. That was speech? Only in the garbled comprehension of a two year old, maybe. At her dubious look, he pointed to the communal kennel, and she had to give him a grudging nod in agreement. These two did still manage a level of communication, with distinct words of Gilnean common. They still grasped a level of comprehension, and they still supported each other. They were still in there.

"It's just…so wrong to see him like this." She finally admitted, and Liam nodded in agreement.

"So, what's the story there, if you don't mind me asking? You were supposed to marry his brother, but I thought you and he were a couple when I saw you during the Affliction…"

Evelyn growled at the question, still staring at Banastre. He had curled back into a miserable huddle and she could hear him licking the wound and whining softly. How to describe that? When she barely understood it herself, and that epiphany had only come after he'd fallen to the Affliction. "I love Ban. Always have." She finally admitted it.

"But you were to marry his brother…"

"Ban scared me. He seemed to be exactly like my father, and that was nothing I wanted in a man. I didn't want to explain to my children why there was no money. Why their father couldn't stand up. My father was in business with Hannibal Russell. They were partners. Fifty fifty." And that should have been enough to keep them in prosperity, the same prosperity that the same business had started the Russells upon. "He liked to drink. He liked to gamble. Watching Ban grow up was like watching a younger, prettier version of my father. I understood my mother then, and I was going to learn from her mistakes. Bram was solid. Grounded. He was going to be a wonderful husband and a wonderful father. A good provider. Safe. He wasn't going to drink and gamble it all away and then…" She grasped the iron bars of the stall. "Run away from it all at the end of a rope."

Liam remained silent, his hazel eyes on the same that hers were, planted firmly on the two male worgen… one piteously trying to sleep, and the other watching them right back. "After my father committed suicide, Hannibal took me in. Raised me alongside the boys. Like I was his own." She finished. "I owe them, Liam. And Ban is it. Do you honestly think he has a chance?"

"I do. I have no doubts that where we're going with this is valid, Miss Whittaker. They're ours. We'll have them back, as our people. On our streets. And we'll call them Gilneans again."

She wished she was as optimistic.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything tasted wrong, and the blue male curled his lips at the idea of eating it. Drinking it, although he was so damned thirsty that he had tried licking the condensation off of the walls. That had only made him thirstier and he growled in discontent. He had a bowl, not a freshly flowing runnel, and the water out of it tasted metallic and had the odd flavor of a multitude of separate plants, most of which were poisonous. Were they trying to kill him? Why, when they had gone to so much trouble to bring him here? The elder seemed to have a do or die viewpoint, and merrily ate and drank everything he'd been given. He was still alive, and didn't seem much the worse for it, so maybe it was time to give the bowl another try. He lapped it down to the bare bottom, and suddenly felt tremendously sleepy. It was too much trouble to lift his head, and he fell asleep right next to the bowl.

And woke feeling much better. The pain in his leg had abated and he was able to stand without flinching. Able to look through the bars and get a better look at his surroundings. A barn. He was being kept in a barn, like food. And he could see, hear…smell, the female who was so familiar. She watched him warily when he stood, and he snuffled at her. She still smelled like him.

"Banastre." She said, and he stopped, puzzling. Banastre? It sounded familiar, as familiar as she was. It would be something he would certainly contemplate if he was alone and in the quiet, but he had none of that here. His perceptions were filled with the annoyance of being way too close to way too many of his kind that he didn't know or trust. He wanted to be back out in the snow. In the blessed silence, away from this assault on his heightened perceptions. Then he could make sense out of it.

"Noisyloud." He snapped back at her and she gasped.

"What? Ban, what did you just say?"

Ban. That was even closer to his soul than the first word. "Noisyloud." He repeated in exasperation. "Here. Barn. Noisyloud." He grasped his ears and folded them closed.

"I'll see what I can do about that." She still felt stunned, her attention going to the human she stood with so often. Her mate? Possibly. He was a fine human male, strong, and clean.

"If their senses are better than ours, then this noise could truly upset them. If it's affecting how well they settle, then it does us no good…we'll move the two of them."

Evelyn sighed, narrowing her eyes. She knew, of course, that they were going to attempt to cure Banastre. She just wasn't sure she was willing to put him through any more than he'd already experienced. But leaving him like this was not an option. "There's no change." She muttered, and Liam shrugged.

"He's been Afflicted for a long time." Liam noted slowly, and she snorted. That, or it just wasn't working at all. Others were visibly changing, recovering, but a healthy Ban was bouncing off of his stall's walls, just as lupine as he'd ever been. And he'd had three doses in his water. "Some of the older ones don't do well with the cure, diluted. He may be one of them."

Evelyn didn't want to even consider what it would take to get that down him, undiluted. He wasn't overly big, for a worgen, but he was still formidable.

"We have time, Miss Whittaker. We are patient. We've come so far already; Aranas's potion is a step in the right direction. We've already done more than any other when faced with the Affliction, in very little time. Have faith in us. Have faith in him. We have time."

She nodded, but was still unconvinced. When had she become such a pessimist? Others were coming back; others seemed to be recovering, but not Ban. It would just be her luck that he would not regain any more of himself that he had stubbornly held onto. What then, keep him as a house pet? An overgrown mastiff? It was just a foolish idea that she had to chuckle, and that seemed to make Liam happier. Good for him.

"Get some sleep, Miss Whittaker, you'll feel better after some food. Some sleep. This hasn't been easy."

She nodded, left to return to her room at the inn. She had the suggested food, bath, and crawled into bed. She had been there for a couple hours, deeply asleep, when the first bombardment hit. She rolled out of bed, stunned, coaching rifle already in hand before she opened her eyes. "What the?" she hissed, yanking open curtains. Another bombardment hit, and she dropped them to hunt for her clothes. She'd figure out the whom later, she already had the what figured out. Under attack, but by who?

She ran down the stairs, not surprised that the common room was in chaos. "Who?" she demanded of Liam, coming out of his own room. He shrugged his own lack of comprehension, falling into step behind her.

"I don't know." He admitted. "But I intend to go find out. Go make certain that the worgen are secured. It would disastrous if they got out…"

That was an understatement, and she ran towards the barn. All of the worgen were awake and the vast majority of them were setting up a horrific din, but they all seemed secure. Liam was gone for what seemed like forever, but she understood it was probably only an hour or so, before he burst through the door again. "Your highness?" She asked warily, and he frowned at her.

"We're under attack by the Scourge." He stated as if he, himself, didn't quite grasp it. "They have ships. But they are certainly undead. Get him out of there, right now." He motioned at Ban. "We've run out of time."

She almost put up a fuss, then silenced. Perhaps he was right. They would either give Ban the partial cure, or they would kill him trying. At least, if they failed, they had not given up on him. Hopefully he wouldn't put up too much of a fight…

He put up one hell of a fight; it took six men to get him in the stocks. There was so much growling, snarling, and snapping that getting the first dose into him was actually fairly easy, and he settled into a lethargic stupor. But still, an hour later, he remained exactly as he was. Four doses, and still nothing. She sighed in disgust; he must have the constitution of a golem. And they were running out of time…

"It's up to you, Miss Whittaker." Liam sighed, and she considered it.

"Give me the bottles."

Ban came to, groggily uncertain. For some reason, he was in the stocks. And he'd been in them for quite awhile, every muscle screamed defiance. What could he have done that would have earned this…

Bram. They'd found Bram. He was in the stocks for murder. It was over.

"Come on, Ban…" Evelyn, and she sounded desperate. "Please. You need to come back."

Come back? Where had he been? He opened his eyes to chaos. He was, as he had ascertained, in the stocks. He was not the only one, the courtyard was full of stocks, and each of them had a worgen restrained in them. Dangling easily within his view were his own hands, and his heart sank. Those weren't….hands…exactly. "Evelyn?" He asked in a voice that was not his own. She couldn't see him like this. It had been better that way. But she was there, and there was no way to hide from her.

"Ban!" She had been sitting at his feet, and she jumped up, staring at him in shock. He completely understood, this was not precisely how he wanted to wake up, either. She seemed to handle it better than he was trying to; her reaction was to wrap her arms around his waist. "You're back. Say something. Anything!"

"…..Anything?" He replied and she spasmed into a sudden fit of uncontrolled laughter. "I don't quite find this amusing, Evelyn." He had changed, cursed with the Affliction, an over grown dog, and she was laughing. Bram was dead. That he remembered. Everything else was desperately fuzzy. But it seemed like the more he said, the more she laughed. And it wasn't even an amused laugh; he didn't like its vaguely hysterical overtones. "Can I at least get out of the stocks? Or am I here for some reason?" Like, if they'd found Bram. How could they not have?

"It was to restrain you while we kept throwing the potions down you. You were stubborn and didn't want to come back."

"How long has it been?" He was pretty sure he didn't want to know, but he was pretty certain he needed to know. And a moment later, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know who was bombarding the village he was in, but was as certain he needed to know.

"A few months. Not that bad."

Months…and not that bad, did not fit together quite as blithely as she wanted him to swallow it. "And the coastal bombardment?" He was in for a pence, he may as well have the rest of it.

"Scourge assault."

And when it rained, it poured. He sighed, shaking his beard….and since when did have one of those? He'd always prided himself on his clean shaven appearance. Clean shaven…the idea was now beyond foolish. "Can I get loose?" He really didn't want to be locked into the stocks if and when the Scourge made a toehold.

"Of course!" She yanked the pin, and he hissed when she pulled the yoke up and he stood. She seemed so happy. He couldn't quite understand why. He could think of plenty of reasons why it wasn't a day to be happy on. He was a worgen, and he'd apparently been this for awhile. Covered in hair. Bram was dead. So many things…

"Evelyn… Where is my father?"

She froze, sighed, and then rested a hand on his arm. "Ban. He's gone. Bram is, as well. Your mother. Her sister."

His world spun, and he had to sit where he had been standing. If she was correct, he was it. No one else. "Are you well?" He managed, and she sat next to him.

"You left a will. With your barrister."

"Of course I have a will." The idea that he didn't was insulting. Why was it even a point of discussion, unless…. "Bram didn't?"

"No."

He should be surprised. But he honestly wasn't. Bram had been so complacent that the idea he might die probably had never occurred to him. Ban had gotten himself into, and out of, more scrapes than he cared to count. His own mortality had become perfectly blatant to him, and making certain that Evelyn got everything if his stupidity caught up with him only made sense.

"And your father left everything to Bram. And then you."

"The assumption was that you were marrying into the family. That would have taken care of everything, Evelyn." She had to understand that. He was appalled that her care hadn't been seen to, but he understood his brother's and father's limited view. The day she married Bram, it would have become a moot point. She had been theirs since his father had brought her home, a bundle of ruffles and lace. Before that, she had just been the daughter of his father's business partner. After that, she'd been family, the little girl his mother had never had.

"I know that, Ban. But you were the one who bothered."

"I was the one with the highest chance of being knifed to death in an alley before I hit age twenty five."

She chuckled wryly, and he shrugged. The truth was the truth. And right now, the truth was that he was not himself. And if he had time to digest that, it would probably be worse, but from the chaos rising around him, he didn't. "You're wearing my coat." He noted…and he was wearing nothing but fur. She was also carrying his coaching rifle, both of his pistols, and his rapier openly. And unless he was completely deluded, she wore one of his shirts and a pair of his morning breeches. The only thing she wore that he couldn't place as something from his wardrobe were her boots, heavier and sturdier than any of his. "You're wearing my clothes…"

She only snorted in response, unlimbering the coaching rifle with an ease he would have been hard pressed to emulate, checking the breeches, and resting it comfortably on her shoulder. "They won't fit you now." She noted with the same 'isn't that obvious' tone that his mother had been famed for.

"Maybe I need a pretty collar." He snapped back, and she laughed.

"It is so good to have you back, Ban." She breathed, seriously, and he hung his head. He didn't feel returned. He felt cursed; for all that he had never felt healthier or stronger in his life. "We fought for you." She continued, cautiously resting a hand on his arm. "Please."

He sighed; she was the one soul he could never deny. He picked her up, and she didn't struggle or even stiffen in his grasp, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "We've come this far, Ban. This is just a partial cure. But Aranas will finish, we will cure you…all. You have to have faith."

Faith. There was a blessing he'd never been accused of before. He was, by his very nature, a cynic. Moody. Dark. Besotted with concrete pleasures, drink, food, gambling and women. The finer things in life. Those were gone from him now. Even if he was cured, the Affliction chased from him, too many things were gone. Bram. His father, his mother. The streets of Gilneas had been painted in blood that night, and he'd done his fair share of it. But he had stood to get Evelyn out, and she was still here. There was still a reason to stand, even if he was this.

"Scourge?" He asked in the split silence after another bombardment, and she shrugged in answer, light in his grasp. He replaced her on her feet, and she nodded to herself.

"Just something else to kill, Ban." Her words were matter of fact, her gaze was steady, and the coupling of mastiffs she headed for were far more dangerous than the fancy gentlemen's guard dogs he and Bram had been gifted with. "These just need to be killed…again…for it to count. For Gilneas."

"For Gilneas." He agreed, gracefully dropping to all fours to lope after her. Part of him cringed inside, but he was accustomed to a speed and dexterity that wasn't well suited to walking on his hind legs.

Scourge. Evelyn curled a lip in hatred, viewing the low slope down to the beach. After all of these years, they were still a problem. The Wall had kept them at bay this long, but now it appeared they had ships, and the Wall did not protect against those. But now, in this darkest time, the Light had, in the oddest of ways, blessed them again. Their defenders were returned, their heroes stood again…taller and more vicious than ever. Banastre's humped shoulder was at her knee, and she was mounted on her large cob. If he stood, he'd be close to eye level with her, in spite of the horse's height.

Several worgen were already down there, on that beach, this time their carnage squarely focused on the undead invaders instead of Gilneas's population. "Ban?" She asked slowly. He was shocky and silent, and she wished he had more time to grasp what had happened to him. They just didn't have the luxury to give him that. He needed to stand again. He needed to stand now.

He sighed gustily, and it was almost amusing how that had not changed. It was the exact same deep, 'you ask sooooo much of me', sigh he had always had. He stood on his hind legs, his attention firmly focused on the nearest group of Scourge, and he stared at his hands for a long second.

"Here goes nothing." He muttered, gesturing.

There was a flash of light, and the hollow thu-thu-thu of the spell going off, and Evelyn crowed in delight. That part of him was returned. His soul was returned. She was willing to take Banastre in any package, as long as it was truly him. And this was indeed, still truly him. She balanced the rifle on her elbow, released the dogs, and grinned. It was time to stand again.

Except for the night when everything had fallen apart and apparently a few months he didn't remember, Ban had never truly fought in his life. But now, on this beach, locked into a form that felt more like him than he had ever felt before, it came like breathing. Cast, cast, and when they were too close, go to claws and fangs. Evelyn beside him, a deadly mark with the long arm she shot and reloaded with a practiced ease. She had changed so much… Bram had been livid when Ban had taught her to shoot. 'Not anything a lady needs to know, Banastre!' He had spat. 'You ruin her. Racy novels, guns, next you'll be keeping her out after midnight, and then what?'

He curled a lip over a fang in distain as he laid on the speed, outdistancing Evelyn's dogs, even her cob, as he moved to close distance with a Scourge catapult moving to bombard the village. Bram would have had Evelyn be a frightened little doll, to be protected, unaware and unable. Clueless of what transpired between a man and a woman behind closed doors, afraid to protect herself. Never.

He tore into the catapult's crew, softening them with a flurry of quickly cast spells, then dropping in the middle of them… his way marked by his own growling snarls. He was a beast. An animal. But still a Gilnean. And still, apparently, loved by Evelyn. If that was all he had left, then it would just have to do, at least until a full cure was perfected.


	8. Chapter 8

Ban was deeply entrenched in battle when, what he had first thought was a particularly strong bombardment knocked him to his side. He bounced back to his paws, his ears filled with cacophony, and Evelyn's harsh yell. Her cob rolled by him, unable to gain footing, and realized that the ocean was surging towards him….no; the land he was on was falling into the sea. He snarled at the very idea, pouring power into his leaps as he bounded over to the dismounted Evelyn scrambling to keep on the ground and out of the ocean.

He grabbed onto the back of her…his…coat and set his claws. Not going…not going…not…

The world tilted and he was catapulted into a roll, tucking around Evelyn. He was going in. He hit the water hard, and began to sink immediately. Thankfully, although he did not swim, it seemed to come naturally to him and he surfaced over what had been land, but was water covered now. He yanked Evelyn up to the surface, and she sputtered. "How did they do that?" She demanded, but he had no answer. None of the stories of the Scourge he'd ever heard of had them able to move the earth itself, but he'd never been the best student. If he had, he'd be a better mage.

"Don't know." He muttered, setting off towards the shore. Things were just getting worse and worse, with no end in sight. "Never heard of Scourge moving the earth."

"There've been a lot of earthquakes lately." She responded, standing when her feet hit the ground. He made certain she was steady before he scrabbled his way out and fought the urge to shake himself drier. No. He was not a dog. Not. A. Dog. He wrinkled his nose at the idea and surveyed his surroundings. If it was indeed the Scourge's doing, then they had precious little care for their own… they seemed to have taken a harder hit from the swamping than Gilneas's true defenders. They had been held to the beach, and then, the beach was no more.

"Damn it." Evelyn grumbled, pointing, and his eyes followed the line of her arm. "Is that boy in the thick of everything?"

Probably. Liam had been in the thick of the night when everything fell, Ban could remember that now that his memories were falling back into some coherent order. And now he was here on the ground, in this madhouse, this time without a guard in sight. "Boy?" He questioned mildly. Liam was older than both of them.

"When he acts like this, it's the label he deserves." She growled, striding towards Liam, water falling from her clothes. Ban shrugged, but fell in behind her like a blue shadow. She could shoot like a fiend, but not with wet powder. Right then, the only weapon she carried still useful was his rapier, and he wasn't certain she was as fine as swordsman as she was with a firearm. He'd never bothered to teach her that, but she'd learned a lot when he'd been roaming the hills, things he'd never taught her. Things he didn't know to teach her.

"Ah. Mistress Whittaker. Master Russell." Liam greeted expansively, and Ban regarded him warily. "Just in time."

"Just in time for what?" Evelyn demanded, then added a belated "Your highness." To the end of it.

"To help me rescue those in the water, of course."

Ban sighed, stared back into the water. Of course. He had been wary of water before he'd become this, and now it was even more uncomfortable….trickling under his coat down his sides, itching and tickling. All he wanted to do was shake, or scratch. Or….both.

He closed his mind to that and leapt into the water.

Evelyn watched Ban out of the corner of her eye. Something had him annoyed, more annoyed than having Liam standing here, unguarded. Something more than having Liam standing here, stripped to his breeches. It was a nice view, Evelyn would have to grant that, and Ban had never been the muscular type. He knew it. She knew it. Bram had been, and obviously Liam was. Even as a worgen, Ban was long, lithe, as thin as a fence rail.

"Damnation." He growled more than muttered, and splayed out on all fours. Even with that warning, and with all the experience she had with canines, Evelyn didn't see it coming.

"You could have warned me." She snapped, wiping the water off of her face. He had finished the shake, and was scratching madly. He gave her a vaguely scolded look, but did not stop.

"Salt water itches." He hissed, and she had to concur. It did, trickling down her back, trickling down her scalp. She would gracefully kill for a bath, and he probably would as well.

"So it does." She agreed, and he stared back gratefully. No, she wasn't going to say it. Not going to bring it up at all. Neither apparently was Liam, who did a better job of ignoring it than she did. To judge his expression, the prince had not even seen it, although he was almost as close as Evelyn. He couldn't have missed it.

"Mistress Whittaker. Master Russell… our finest worgen hunter, and our fastest worgen. I need you to head into the interior, in case…." Liam frowned, his hazel eyes dark under his brows. "We need to effect another evacuation. Scout and secure our backs, head for Stormglen. Make certain we have another fallback position. I believe…Mistress Whittaker….that your horse went that way." He pointed. "You'll need it to keep up with Master Russell."

She nodded, and headed in that direction, Ban following close behind. Her cob was, as promised, tied to a tree along with two other horses. He was wet, his saddle had a deep scratch gouged into the near flap, but overall, he could be worse. She untied him, mounted up, and rode away, deeper into Gilneas. She took it easy at first, concerned that the cob's rolling dip in the ocean had done him no good, but he seemed sound and she let him slide into a long strided canter. Ban loped alongside, his bounds as graceful and easy as the horse's. He was keeping stride with a horse, and was not even really trying… if anything, Evelyn believed he was capable of a much greater speed, and he felt almost…contented. Of course, he'd been locked into a barn for months and the stocks for days, stretching his legs was probably good for him.

Another evacuation. The very idea was enough to make her seethe, even if she understood Liam's caution. There were those who whispered that Gilneas was cursed, now paying for her actions during the Scourging, and there were moments that Evelyn was inclined to agree with them. As if the Night of Affliction had not been enough, now they had earthquakes undermining the Wall, and a foe that had remained at bay for years stood on their shores. If this wasn't cursed, she wasn't sure what cursed would be.

She rode in silence for hours, Ban showing little sign of tiring during the entire time. He also remained silent, caught up in his own thoughts, and she pitied him. He needed time to grasp what had happened, and he was not going to have that luxury. She wanted to take him to a quiet place, far away, to let him heal as best he could. But that wasn't going to happen. They were under assault again, and this time, their Worgen citizenry was one of their greatest weapons. It was an odd idea to consider Ban a weapon, he'd been fine clothes, golden watches and moody cynicism his entire life, but he was.

"Evelyn." He finally broke the silence, and she glanced down at him. "It grows dark." He noted the obvious, and she grimaced. Of course it was getting dark…. "Your horse needs a rest. You need a rest. I need a rest. I'm hungry, and it's getting cold. Your gear is wet. It's time to stop."

"I don't have anything to feed you." She had a fine idea what a fully grown male worgen ate, and how much he was capable of putting down. What little dried meat she had would be an appetizer.

"I can feed myself, and will, once we make camp…Evelyn, your powder is wet. If we run into trouble…"

"Fine." He was right, and there was little odd in that. He usually was. The cob needed a breather, and Ban had been keeping pace every step of the way. He was desperately thin, she shouldn't abuse him any farther than he'd already been. And yes, her gear, and her powder, was wet. The air grew cold. She just wasn't certain that she wanted to be left alone with Ban. He had been resistant to the cure, terribly so. And they weren't entirely certain how true the cure even really was. They seemed to regain their senses, but what happened when the moon rose full over the Headlands? When Ban dragged down his dinner and gorged himself on blooded meat? That was a thought she couldn't share with him. "Here." It was as fine a campsite as any she was going to find on this road. "Go feed."

He didn't need a second push, his dark body vanishing into the undergrowth with hardly a whisper of dry leaves, leaving her with a heavily worked cob to groom and walk, a damp and salty bedroll to fight dry, and dinner to start for herself. She snorted, shaking her head. Men never changed, even when they changed. But he needed to eat, and eat soon. He was fragile from his capture and the time they'd held him. He'd barely touched food in the barn, most of his going to a happy Crowley.

She got a small fire going, walked the cob dry, and was just turning her attention to her own dinner when he reappeared, winding his way through the undergrowth. He carried a deer haunch in his jaws, which he dropped at her feet with a flourish, going to his hind legs to bow in a graceful mockery of the man he'd once been. "I brought dinner." He noted the obvious, settling onto his haunches.

"Thanks." Fresh would be so much better than dried, and she was willing to ignore the fact that the haunch had been torn from the carcass in a single yank. "Get some sleep. You need it." He did, and if he was asleep, then she didn't have to deal with the awkward reality, nor the undercurrent of concern, that he engendered in her soul. "Your blanket is drying over there."

He snatched the horse blanket from where she had spread it, dragging it to a nice place close to the fire, and settled down. He was asleep in moments, his ears drooping and his breathing deepening. Poor, poor Ban. Poor, poor Evelyn. She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared up into the pristine sky, spangled with stars. Poor, poor Gilneas.

He might have slept through the night, Evelyn wasn't certain. He was quite awake when she woke at dawn, gnawing on the long bone from the deer haunch. He dropped it like it had burned him the moment she sat up, and she sighed. "Ban. Please."

"Please what?"

"You are what you are. Denying it, hiding it, being ashamed of it… doesn't help." Even though his mind was back, he was still physically a four hundred pound carnivore. He needed to eat like one. Run like one. Be one, until they could bring him back fully. "Live it, Ban."

He coughed, stretched luxuriously, and dropped pewter eyes on her. "Bram would have done better at this." He muttered, his ears flicking to absorb the sounds around him. "Big boy. Not worried about getting dirty. He'd have made a fine, big male…"

"If we're playing what if, Ban… What if he wouldn't have bitten you?" She was stiff, cold and in no mood to play into this. "What if the worgen hadn't overrun the City? None of that matters anymore." Bram was dead. Ban was afflicted. It was just what it was. She couldn't bring Bram back, but there was still hope for Ban.

He growled, but went back to his bone.

Ban ran. It was a glorious feeling, pelting along the road, about half a mile ahead of Evelyn's progress. He felt better than fine, he felt…right, until he caught the scent on the wind. He dropped from full speed down to a cautious trot. Male worgen. Female worgen. A pack? Here, this close to Stormglen? Not good.

Obviously others had noses as fine as his, a sudden challenging howl rose from the road, and he froze, debating his options. Face the challenger? Ban was a lightweight, not heavy enough to fight a good sized dog. Run? He could, and there was no worgen he'd found that he could not outrun. But he'd have to run straight at Evelyn, and that would drag his follower right onto her.

"Who goes?" His challenger had howled, but his words were in perfectly comprehensible Common. A large male emerged onto the road, walking on his hind legs, and he'd managed a pathetic attempt at clothing. Ban was still down on all fours, the only scrap of anything remotely resembling clothing on him was the earring he still wore… he was still exactly as they'd brought him out of the Headlands.

He stood warily. "I am Banastre Russell. Liam sent me back to help secure Stormglen?"

"Russell. Ah, the mage who stood at the Cathedral. Welcome."

Ban wasn't certain he really liked the other's immediate identification; he'd always enjoyed living on the edge. Now, he was apparently 'that mage who stood at the Cathedral', and he wasn't certain if that was a good or a bad thing. "My companion is about a half a mile behind me."

The other male nodded. "Maybe you two can figure out what happened to Stormglen."

"Eh?"

"The village was deserted when we arrived. There are breastworks erected, there are dogs and stock left behind, but no villagers."

Ban smelled the air. He smelled a great many worgen, but obviously he and Evelyn were not the first that Liam had sent back. "We're close to the Blackwald." He noted, and the other male nodded in agreement. That was never a place that he had passed through, even after he'd become afflicted. Too many worgen. Too many tales of haunts, unnatural animals, and disappearances. He preferred the calm, clean chill of the Headlands. "Not a place I stayed, even when I didn't remember myself."

"Agreed. I'll let them know you and your companion are coming and that Liam sent you. The larger male vanished, and Ban jumped into stride, headed back for Evelyn.

"What?" she asked without preamble, when he made it back to her, and he rose to his hind legs.

"There's a problem at Stormglen."

Evelyn gazed around the village, shaking her head. Ban was tucked closely into the cob's side, warily measuring every threat. Unlike the other worgen prowling the village, he still went on all fours most of the time. Most of the worgen were showing attempts at regaining their humanity, wearing pieces of clothing. They felt like odd half humans, Ban felt like an animal with a soul. And it worried her. Why wouldn't he heal? Why was he so damned resistant? Of anyone, she would have thought that he, originally so civilized, would have been the easiest to bring back.

"So the villagers were gone when they arrived." She muttered, expecting no answer from him. He did glance up in reaction, but said nothing. It was obvious. "What else can go wrong?"

"There's an inn." He offered, and she exploded into laughter. It was exactly the same comment she would have expected from the old Ban that it was refreshing. An inn in a ghost town, charming.

"Get us a room, if you can." She chuckled, dismounting and taking the cob's reins. "You'll be fine. Looks like the majority of souls here are worgen." Indeed, she did seem to be in the minority, another thing she could really fret on if she gave herself room to. Damn Liam. He trusted so easily…if she died here, she was most certainly haunting him for the rest of eternity.

"Right." He loped away, and she wasn't blind to the odd stares he got from the others.

She stabled her cob, taking as long as possible before leaving the barn and heading for the inn. She felt vulnerable, out of place, all too human. Ban waited outside, and he seemed as ill at ease as she did. "Got a room. Only one. Sorry…I can sleep in the commons or the barn…"

"Don't be silly." It made no sense to have camped alone with him, but then refuse to share a room. And he was the evil she knew, these others were strangers. She followed him up the stairs and into the room, sighing. It was tiny, tucked into the back corner of the building, but it had a bed and a door. She'd take it.

She tossed Ban his blanket, and he nested it in front of the empty fire grate. He stared at that for a moment, then gestured at the cold coal. A spark jumped from his claws, and the fire lit. "Humph." Ban stated, before he curled into a ball on his blanket. Just as before, he fell into an immediate deep sleep, leaving Evelyn alone with her thoughts.

She was deeply asleep, and then suddenly awake. She was familiar with this sensation; it had come more and more often during her hunts. The moon had risen. The worgen were running.

And she was in a room with one. He must be awake. Standing over her, claws splayed and ready, his eyes crimson… She wrapped fingers around the grip of her pistol and flipped over in the bed, to face the rest of the room and not the wall. Banastre was not standing over her, waiting to kill her. He wasn't standing at all. He wasn't even awake, he was dead to the world asleep, stretched out to his full length on the floor in front of the hearth, his slat thin sides rising and falling in the rhythm of his deep breaths.

She was such a fool. She stood, and moved to the tiny window, staring out. It was odd to see so many worgen, and not panic, but they were on Stormglen's streets in force…. but they acted like Gilneans and not worgen. One, wearing a top hat, lifted it politely in response to a welcoming hail, and it was all she could do to hold in her laugh. Her people had become animals…top hat wearing, cane clutching…animals.

"Wha?" Ban asked sleepily. "Something wrong?"

"No. The moon rose, is all." He should have known that before she had.

"Yes. A little bit ago. The wild ones run, and howl. A fine night for it." He curled up again, and his open eyes were red, but it was from the reflection of the coals in them.

"Do you want to?"

"Run? Here? No. The Blackwald is haunted." It was a simple enough answer, and she nodded. The worgen here were darker, more violent, more frightening, than the ones in the Headlands. The woods were heavy, oppressive here, unlike the natural beauty of the ones he had sought shelter in. The tales of haunting were rife. It was no place for the sane, and that seemed to go for sane worgen as well. "Go back to sleep, Evelyn. I will listen."

She nodded, but moved towards the fireplace and not the bed. He watched her, but did not move when she rested an open hand on his side. He smelled of the ocean, of walnuts, of Gilneas… all bound up in his thick, silken coat. "You're too thin." He was warm. She could feel his breaths, and the deep thud of his heartbeat. Solid. Alive. Real.

"Go to sleep, Evelyn." He repeated, resting his chin on his forearm and staring back. She nodded, and climbed back into the small bed. She thought there'd be no more sleep, but she was wrong… she fell back asleep almost as soon as she was back in bed.

Ban was dreaming. For all of his claims that the Blackwald was no place he wanted to be loose in, he was running, dodging its black trunks, exulting in the beams of moonlight that pierced the darkness. And before him, what he was running towards, a spot of white as bright as the moonlight. While it did not seem to be actively fleeing him, it was not easy to get to, always seeming to fade away when he seemed to get close. He finally got a clear path, and flattened out to run as fast as he could in pursuit. It was a worgen…no a wolf, the same color as moonlight.

"Banastre."

"Who are you?" It had a wolf's eyes, golden and solemn.

"I am called many names. Goldrinn. Lo'gosh."

And neither of the many names it gave was even remotely familiar to Ban. Why chase this? "I am the spirit of the Wolf. The head of the pack."

"Oh." But this was a true wolf, not an abomination like himself. "I don't understand."

"You are one of my children, imbued with my power."

Imbued with power. Ban didn't even try to not loose the growl the idea brought. Certainly he'd been born imbued with power, he was a mage. But this, this wasn't an imbuement, it was a curse.

"I understand, Banastre. This came to you in the wrong way. It was an assault, and a loss. The Kal'dorei thought they could harness this, use it without my blessings, and they have corrupted it. Now my blessings have been warped into a scourge of your lands, your people."

The words were stern, yet sad, and Banastre sat in contemplation. Kal'dorei? Elves? He'd come out of his magical training with little, but the comprehension that those had a bad habit of destroying anything magical that they touched. They lived long enough to know too much…

"Exactly. But that is between me and them. I am here now to speak to you. I don't know how to remove the imbuement, and even if I did, I am not certain I would. The Cataclysm is upon us, and you are a fine example of one who should be blessed. I am pleased to count you as one of my children. One of these days, you may be pleased to be counted amongst those I choose, Banastre. The days grow dark. Those you stand for need you to be this. My acceptance of you has made the blessing grow strongly within you." The wolf sighed, "However, I grasp what a weight this is to you. Go into the heart of this area you call Blackwald. There grows a tree that the Kal'dorei call Tal'doren. There are Kal'dorei there who will be able to help you regain some of what you have lost to their meddling. They have done this, they must help make it as right as they can. Take your companion to the Tree. She needs this as well."

Ban woke up, warm and content in a new sunbeam. Evelyn still slept, turned away from him, facing the wall, her curling brown hair loosely braided. He could hear those outside and downstairs carrying on, the only difference between how it used to sound and how it did sound was the gravelly timbre of the voices.

Go into the heart of the Blackwald. Find Tal'doren, the Kal'dorei, and receive their aid. It sounded like foolishness now, in the bright morning, but there was a nagging deep in his soul that would not stop worrying at it. "Evelyn."

"Wha? Oh, my…it's late!" She floundered out from the covers and stared at him. "You've been awake?"

"When have I ever woken early?" Did he dare take her into the depths of the Blackwald on the weight of a dream? It was one thing to risk himself…

"True enough."

"Evelyn, there's something I have to do. I'll be back as soon as…" Evelyn had never been a big one, and now she was tiny, but her sudden welling of rage was much larger than her body. On some level, he had worried that she would fear him, but there was only outrage in her expression.

"No." She snapped, and he pulled warily on his beard…noting that at some time, he had bothered to braid beads into it, and tie it with a scrap of silk ribbon. "Where are you going?"

He focused on the faded rug. "I am told that, in the middle of the Blackwald, are some elves…they may have magics that can help this."

"Then we go." He wished he could be as easily convinced. But maybe he was, after all, he was going on a dream…and that was much more ephemeral than following him.

The way was dark, gloomy, but Ban forced himself to keep going. Foolish, foolish, foolish. There was no great tree in the middle of the Blackwald. No elves. Just some of the worst worgen in Gilneas, and the ghosts. Evelyn was silent, riding alongside of him. "Any idea what we're looking for?" She finally asked when the sun was at its highest. It should have made the woods less formidable, but going from bright patches to dark played havoc with his vision.

"A tree." He finally admitted. "A great tree. Tal'doren." It sounded like the height of stupidity except… the trees gave way around him, and he stepped into a clearing. And in the middle of that clearing was the largest tree he'd ever seen in his life. And loping towards him, picking up speed as he came…Crowley.

"Russell! You came! I was about to send someone to collect you and bring you, but you came on your own?" Like the others, Crowley was clothed, his missing eye hidden behind a patch.

"I…uh….had a dream." It seemed less like a damned stupid thing to say, standing in the sunlight, before the promised great tree. Crowley looked at him sharply, and Ban shrugged in reply. "I dreamed that a giant white wolf told me to come here. To bring Evelyn. That the Kal'dorei would help…"

"Goldrinn. You saw Goldrinn."

"That was one of the names he gave, yes."

"You never cease to amaze, Russell. But it is correct; there are elves here to help. And yes, they do help. Go into Tal'doren, the wild home, and follow their lead. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Ban echoed slowly. Once, not too long ago, he would have trusted the one eyed one without doubt, but now that his memories were returning… And surely, Crowley's were as well…

"Russell. I hold nothing against you." Crowley glanced at Evelyn, then offered a lopsided grin. "Had you not been the one to have bitten me, another would have, or would have torn me apart. You bit me. I shot you. We're even. Now stop this, go, my friend. Let the damned elves help pay us back for what they've done. Good day, Mistress Whittaker."

He swaggered off, a hop in his step, and Ban frowned. "You bit Crowley?" Evelyn demanded, scandalized, and Ban hung his head. He'd done worse than that, maddened with pain and the rage of his Change.

"I bit Crowley." He admitted slowly. "But let us see this tree, meet these elves."

There were elves, more than Ban had been expecting. And worgen, clustered around. He growled when they gazed at Evelyn, and several of them backed away in response. "You are?" The nearest elf asked, and Ban looked at the first he'd ever seen in his life. Gilneas had been locked off from the rest of the world for all the time that he could remember, all of the races he knew to exist from his schooling had fled before the Wall had been completed. Gilneas was a human kingdom, pure and simple.

"I am Banastre Russell."

"And you were afflicted when the Capital fell?"

"I was." She was lovely, so very lovely, but it was in a freakish way that didn't set well in his soul. He preferred Evelyn's earthy normalcy to this, and he'd prefer this to be wearing a lot more clothes. It was distracting, and again, in a way he didn't quite appreciate. There was one good thing to his heavy coat…he couldn't blush.

"That was a long time ago." She managed to sound disapproving and he growled in response. If the spirit in the dream was correct, she had utterly no grounds to behave in this manner.

"Goldrinn told me that you were here to help." He snapped back, and her eyes widened.

"You have seen the ancient?" She looked around, her words loud enough to carry. It got the obviously desired effect of bringing one of the male elves from close by. He stared at Banastre, focusing, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes. This one is blessed and accepted by the ancient. Touched by Goldrinn. It will make this easier, and more difficult. He also has an arcane soul. Yes, when the alchemy holding his curse at bay fails, he will fall again, quickly. And that cannot be allowed. We must start the ritual now."

While Banastre grasped most arcane rituals, this one was beyond him, and after it got started, he became too dizzy and oddly focused to pay more attention to it. All he really understood was the feeling that the moon colored wolf was so close, that the incense clouded his mind, and voices telling him to drink…drink from wells. Three of them, and then he slept.

Evelyn was afraid to touch him. To move him. To even breathe on him. To startle him awake. Nothing could break this…for this was Ban. Asleep. Human, and naked as the day he'd been born. His hair was much longer, he'd grown a scrubby beard, and he was marked with scars she was certain he had not possessed when this all started. Crowley just chuckled, and dropped a blanket over his hips, hiding what Evelyn wasn't supposed to see. "Spare the boy some embarrassment."

"He's…human again." She breathed, and Crowley's amusement evaporated like a drop of water on a hot skillet.

"No. Miss Whittaker, he is not. I am very sorry. He is still worgen. This isn't a cure; this is just a better control of it. He can now assume his human form, as long as he's not in pain, under stress, or in fear. He'll revert to his lupine form instinctively if he's in danger. Or if it's the form he desires to be in….he's very fast in it. But this does give him the choice…most of the time…of which form he wants. It's closer to a cure."

"He bit you."

The worgen sneezed and chuckled. "So he did. And the bugger took my eye. And probably saved me for it. No hard feelings, Mistress Whittaker. He stands for Gilneas. For Greymane." He rested ebony claws in Ban's thick, tangled hair. "He's tempering well. Still fickle, but he'll grow out of it. Will you take him back? It won't be easy…"

"I will." Any doubts she might have had were gone. Ban was here. He'd be difficult, but when hadn't he been? At least now he had true reasons to be, deeper than a broken pocket watch, a lost hand at cards.


	9. Chapter 9

Ban woke up. He was flat on his back, and a cool breeze caressed his chest. The forearm pressed over his eyes was naked, furless, and he sighed. It was all…just a dream. Possibly the worst he'd ever had in his life… try as he might, he couldn't think of what it was he had drank, smoked, or eaten to have had such a bad reaction. "Daaaaammmmnnnnnn." He breathed. "Where are my clothes?"

"Ban."

Ouch. That was Evelyn's voice. Of all the persons to be caught by, she had to be the worst. Worse than even his mother… He opened his eyes to lock gazes with Evelyn, hanging over him. She grinned at him, and he regarded her warily. "Morning, Evelyn." He greeted. "Where are my clothes?"

"I'll get you some right away." She seemed oddly happy to have found him fuzzily hung over and naked…in a field. Full of…worgen and elves. It wasn't a dream. It was real. And he was…human. That's why she was so happy. It had worked.

She returned with clothes, his clothes, wrinkled and abused. It was the best he was going to get in the field, and he had to accept it. "It worked." He mused, cautiously sliding into his shirt while still managing to keep the blanket over his hips.

She dropped her gaze, and he sighed. "Or it just…helped." Goldrinn's words had been quite clear. This was not a cure. This was not the end. He stared at his hands…but it was a step in the right direction. He wiggled into a pair of breeches, and stood. She was now the correct height, able to look him in the eyes, he was himself again. Nothing a shave and a haircut wouldn't fix…access to his own wardrobe, his own boots. A tailor capable of making his clothes fit until he gained back the weight he'd lost during this, his own home around him again. Evelyn and he could rebuild the business, Russell and Whittaker, just the way it had been before. He'd have to calm down, but he'd had enough of excitement to hold him for quite awhile. He was well off in planning dreams when the first harsh yell brought his attention up from pondering the grass.

He frowned, recognizing the two riders approaching. Neither was good news, and he moved closer to Evelyn's side, wishing he was more imposing. He supposed he could become quite imposing, if he really wanted to, but there was nowhere he really wanted to go, ever again. But Vincent Godfrey was trouble, a much more subtle and dishonorable trouble than Darius Crowley could ever dream of. Godfrey was the type to stab one in the back, Crowley the type to take a fist to a face, and Ban could respect the one's approach, but the other sat ill. Godfrey was not the type to accept any aberrations, and Ban was most certainly an aberration now. As for the second rider, that was just as sad as Evelyn's presence here. He could not protect Evelyn from this, and it seemed as if Crowley could not protect his daughter from it.

"Father!" Lorna shouted, throwing herself from her horse and running towards Crowley. Her father's eye widened, and he shouted her name back in shock. "Lorna!" There was a question there as well, and one that Ban asked himself… What was Lorna doing here, with Godfrey…and…?

He backed away when a third rider became visible… Genn Greymane, here. He was suddenly all too well aware of how remote and desolate the area was. Things could vanish here all too easily, embarrassing, inconvenient things…like the worgen. But they'd worked so hard to cure them, and now, with the Kal'dorei druids' aid, control was in their grasp. Maybe not a cure, yet, but control…he stood as a human here.

"You and your Elven allies are hereby ordered to serve along the King's army. Cursed or not, you are still bound by Gilnean law!" Godfrey spat the words, and Ban's heart sank. Had he not been serving voluntarily? He was no penniless fool to be taken off of the streets and conscripted like this. He was a Gilnean citizen, and proud of it. This reeked of a servitude he wanted no part of; the first step to second class citizenry, and that….that was unacceptable. And to impress the Kal'dorei, who weren't even Gilneans, weren't even human…that was slavery. And as angry as he was with them, he would not stand by for that. The darkest, most selfish corner of his soul doubted if there would be any more help forthcoming after this, and the more sources he had for a complete cure, the better.

Judging by the myriad flurry of expressions on Crowley's still lupine features, Ban knew he was not the only one following this concatenation. Crowley glanced between Lorna, who had stepped away, her grasp on a rifle as secure and promissory as Evelyn's…both women had unlimbered long arms; both had them pointed just lower than level…and the fast approaching King of Gilneas.

"Does this toad speak for you, Genn? Do you come to our dwelling as a friend? Or do you come as a tyrant?" He challenged, and Ban cringed. Subtlety had never been a strong point of Crowley's, and it seemed like today would give him no different.

The king found something amusing in the whole affair; he didn't even try to erase the twist of his lips or the rise of his brow. His gaze skipped over the assemblage, Crowley, Lorna, Ban, and Evelyn, then he shrugged, eyes falling back onto Crowley.

"No, old friend. I've come to you as an equal." He sighed, took a deep breath, and changed. Evelyn gasped in disbelief, stepping backwards until she ran into a stunned Ban. The king… was afflicted. He was worgen, changing into a great dark beast before their eyes.

"Impossible!" Godfrey snarled, his face white under his hat, he stared between Genn and Crowley for a long moment, before his eyes and mouth narrowed, and he spun his horse, galloping away from Tal'doren as quickly as the poor beast could manage.

Not impossible. It all made so much sense now, as Ban started to get his mind wrapped around it. Genn's steadfast belief that they were redeemable, Liam's refusal to give up. The unflinching focus of the Royal Chemist, Aranas, dedicated to finding a cure.

"Aye, Genn, it is not law that binds us. It is something far stronger. My men are ready to give their lives under your command." Again, a grand statement from Crowley, and Ban sighed. He'd prefer to not give his life under Genn's command, or anyone else's, but these were dark times.

"It is decided then. We will unite all Gilneans and drive these… Forsaken… from our lands." Genn nodded, returning to his human form. Ban watched him and Crowley fade away, into the brush, before he sighed and turned to Evelyn.

"Well." He muttered, awkward and wordless. His life was frivolous joy, not this baited reality. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to be known by the King. He didn't want to know Crowley, or Liam. He'd take Evelyn, of course. He'd always wanted her, since he was old enough to understand what it was he wanted. And the business, it was rightfully his. The house was his. They'd lost a great deal, but things were still salvageable. He'd stand and fight for Gilneas, for Evelyn, but that was about it.

She reached out and took his hand, gripping it tightly. "Ban, we are Gilneans. We have survived this far. The Scourging…"

He stared at her in bemusement. "We survived the Scourging because we built a giant wall and hid behind it…." So many great things, lost, beyond the Greymane Wall. His teachers had whispered of Dalaran, the Kirin Tor, those things lost when he had been nothing but a toddler. When Ban had shone at magery, that loss had become all too obvious. The place that every mage in Gilneas agreed that Ban should have been at, denied to him. Why shine when….

He shook that from his mind. He wasn't a mage. He was a Gilnean merchant, now cursed, with a business to save. It was time to go back to the City, help fortify her defenses, and wait for the Scourge…Forsaken…to hit.

"Ah, Russell!" And….he hadn't gotten out of here nearly fast enough. And with friends like these, there was nowhere in the City he could hide and still take care of Evelyn…. "Yes, Lord Crowley?" At least Genn was nowhere in sight….

"The Blackwald is secure enough to move our people through now, you are our fastest…" Crowley paused, considered his words, and obviously decided that none was his best and left it at that. "Russell, please."

I don't want to. Don't ask me. Don't make me… He stared defiantly into Crowley's single eye, but the worgen did not flinch or give. "I am not a monster." He hissed, and Crowley only nodded, but still did not let him retreat.

"I know, Master Russell. But you are still our fastest; you will bring the news like the wind. Run as I know you love doing."

"Ban, it's….fine. I….will wait here, with Lord Crowley." Evelyn began, not managing to look firmly at the Lord Crowley she had just suggested she remain behind with.

That didn't precisely sound safe, either, but he had few choices. His exasperated sigh turned into a lupine growl as he released his hold on his now foreign human form and melted back into his long, lean worgen flesh. It shouldn't be so easy. It shouldn't feel so right. He gave Crowley an annoyed snap at the air, bunched up his muscles, and ran.

He was gone, out of the clearing in just a handful of bounds, moving like a shadow. Evelyn bit her bottom lip, wishing that Crowley wasn't watching her like he was. She didn't want calm compassion, nor any form of understanding. "Does he frighten you?" Crowley finally asked, his single eyed gaze locked not on Evelyn, but on Lorna well out of earshot.

"Ban?" Of course he meant Ban, and that was the roll of the eye he gave in response. "He's not a very impressive worgen." And not a very impressive human….

"Do not underestimate him. He's fast. And strong for his size."

"As always." She shrugged, "He doesn't frighten me, most of the time. He's a magnificent creature like this…." Why, she couldn't say. He was Ban, only different. "You're afraid."

He snuffled in answer, his ears in a constant flurry of motion. "The boy has one of those hearts and souls that can be crushed. And I fear for us all if it is. Why did he never train as a mage, truly?"

Why, indeed? "He told me once, after a few too many, that Gilneas didn't have the resources to make him a fine mage. Talked about some place called Dalaran, that wasn't in Gilneas. Asked why he should bother. It's always that with Ban, if it can't be the best, he doesn't want it." Why she got the tinges that he wanted her were beyond her. She was hardly the best. "Horses, dogs, brandy, clothes, jewelry."

"Ah. And without the option of sending him to Dalaran to train with the Kirin Tor, he wasn't going to get, or be, the best. So why waste time. I understand now, my thanks to you. It is one of the reasons why I told Genn we should come out from behind our wall…" He glanced north, and she understood all too well what he was considering, even if he could not see it. "But now it seems as if we are forced out. Perhaps now, Master Russell will have his chance at the Kirin Tor after all."

"He's a good mage." As shocking as that was, it appeared to be the truth. Crowley paused, shook his beard.

"He's a good mage, for a young man who fidgeted his way into being asked to leave classes for it, very early on. He has the potential to be a great mage, if he could be challenged. Perhaps when we drive the undead from our lands, we can open talks with the Kirin Tor, again."


	10. Chapter 10

Ban loped along, growling to himself. He'd been relegated to the position of Crowley's messenger dog, as much as he grasped the reasoning. Crowley knew him all too well, had spent too much time spent hunting together in the Headlands, relying upon Ban's incredible speed. And Crowley was well known and respected by the royal family. So now, Ban was well known to the royal family by proxy. And lately, that wasn't even a proxy position. He'd never been the social climber in the family, his father, and even his brother, had been more interested in being known by the higher ups. Now, Ban was recognized, named, by the King. By the crown prince. By Lord Crowley. And he was certain he didn't like it.

Just want to go home. It was ironic now; that all Ban Russell wanted to do was go home. Sit by the fire, read a book, and spend time with Evelyn. Go to bed at a respectable hour, with only a single nightcap under his belt. Sleep in his own bed. Now, he decided to be responsible, to grow up. He pinned his ears back and dug his claws in deeper, pushing his body faster. It was too late now; somehow he knew that in the darkest part of himself. There was no going back. It was either sink or swim time… Evelyn was still untouched by the Affliction. Healthy. She was his future, the touchstone of sanity in this chaos. Russell and Whittaker was still viable. They just had to hold Gilneas, and like it or not, holding Gilneas meant yet another evacuation. Ironically, he was tired of running, although that seemed to be all he was good at anymore.

He made Stormglen in good time, even for him, an hour of light still remaining, and cut his way through the gathered throngs of worgen to the mayor. "The road through the Blackwald is open." He reported to her, and she grinned at him.

"Bloody good!" She laughed, "The sooner we get the refugees from Duskhaven inland, the better."

Possibly. Hopefully. If the Wall still stood, then Gilneas City was their best hope. If it didn't, then they probably had undead in the Northern Headlands pushing in from the north, with the city caught in the middle. And if that was so, it would be the Night of Affliction all over again, this time they would bring the Plague instead of the Worgen curse. Gilneas could not survive another such attack…

But he remained silent. If she truly did not see it, then it wasn't his place to point it out. And if she did… well, let her keep the brave face up. She was the representative of the Crown left here to keep morale and order, he wouldn't undermine her. "Is my room here still open?" He rumbled questioningly.

"Certainly, Master Russell." She said, and he nodded, climbing the stairs back to the corner room. It was silent without Evelyn, and he eyed the bed for a long moment before sighing and stretching out on the rug before the grate. There was one good thing about being a ne'er do well… He'd made a life out of worrying about things in the morning.

There was an undercurrent of concern that Evelyn didn't appreciate. It was bad enough to be surrounded by the creatures she'd spent months learning to hunt and kill, something she'd become quite good at it, but to feel their dire gloom didn't help. She glanced at Lorna, heartened that she wasn't quite the only non afflicted Gilnean in the area. The other young woman intercepted the glance, nodded, and moved close to Evelyn's small fire, sitting and hugging her knees.

"What is it?" Evelyn finally asked. Lorna was even closer to this than she was, and might have the information that she lacked. Once, not too long ago, she would have found Lorna too intimidating to even consider speaking to… Crowley's daughter was lovely. Competent. Strong. Well bred and well raised. But now, she was a Gilnean, in the same encampment, and she shared Evelyn's problems.

"Some question as to the stability of the Wall. So many earthquakes, and then this last one…." Lorna shrugged, pushed a lock of black hair back and studied the coals. "The Forsaken may be coming through to our north."

Evelyn sighed, feeling suddenly very old and very tired. "When will we know? When we get to the City?" Stuck in the center of Gilneas, caught in the middle between the Wall and the faltering southern coast….if the Wall had failed, it would be another stand against insurmountable odds, played out on her streets. Evelyn had been in one of those already, and didn't favor another.

"Father suggests sending your Banastre forward to see, when he returns from Stormglen. He's very fleet of foot…?"

And sneaky. Evelyn felt her lips twist…when had he become her Banastre? She glanced at her hands; the one still adorned with Bram's ring, and frowned. She'd always considered it Bram's ring, but now, by rights, it was Ban's. A Russell family heirloom, given to the boys' great grandmother originally, the design much closer to the detailed items favored by Ban rather than the heavy style favored by his brother.

"What?" Lorna asked, and Evelyn sighed.

"You still love your father."

"Of course I do." Lorna snorted, reaching out her hands to the fire. "He's still my father. He didn't ask for this, and neither did your Banastre. They are still our people. Our family. We can't just…drop them…now. Especially now that we rely on their new natures to protect us from these Forsaken. We'd be hypocrites of the highest degree if we tell them from one side of our mouth that we need them down there, in all their lupine glory, fighting….but they aren't still our people. Our family. Father. Lovers…or whatever he is to you."

"He's my…" Evelyn shrugged, warm and safe in his coat. "Something. I was to marry his brother."

"Oh…I…." Lorna chuckled, dug in the pockets of her coat, and pulled out waxed paper bundles. "Guess I would have to know more to understand." She finally admitted. "But…I have chocolates. And I'm not sharing with them…" She jerked her chin at the largest group of worgen. "Have one?"

"Certainly." They were a little squashed, but still good. Even better washed down with a good swallow of Ban's favorite fine brandy. And, like Lorna, Evelyn was willing to share.

Ban woke, early for him, but there was too much hubbub in Stormglen to sleep through it. A quick glance out the window showed it was past dawn, with groups already beginning to gather together and move out….north, towards the capital. And it was time for him to retrace that route, meet back up with Evelyn, just another day in this. He bounded down the stairs, gracefully dodging patrons and furniture, and flattened into his full speed the moment he hit outdoors, quickly outpacing most of the groups on the way.

She was waiting when he arrived, although it was obvious that many of those who had been at Tal'doren had moved on, towards the capital already. She sat her back to him, on a fallen log, next to another woman. He smelled the air; both were unafflicted, healthy, whole and he dropped into a slow jog to enjoy the scene. It was as if nothing was amiss, they were talking, spouting an occasional laugh…they smelled of chocolates, roast rabbit, and a good brandy. It was lovely, and it didn't feel at all odd to hunker next to Evelyn and grin, showing a jaw full of fangs happily.

"Ban!" Evelyn greeted, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Back so soon!"

The other woman was one he was only faintly acquainted with, and, in another time, would have been one he would have avoided if at all possible. He hadn't been nearly responsible enough a young man to be trusted anywhere near Lord Crowley's daughter. But times had changed. He had changed. Everything had changed.

"Morning, Evelyn." It still sounded odd to hear that voice, so unlike his, come from him. "Morning, Miss Crowley."

"Gooood morning, Master Russell." She greeted back. "It's been a pleasure, Evelyn. I hope, one of these days, we can meet again under better circumstances. But Master Russell, I do believe my father is looking for you."

"But…" Ban almost whined, and both of the women grinned at the noise he managed. "I've run my tail offffff…."

"And I am aware of that, Master Russell." Crowley's voice was deeper than his, booming, massive, and he fought the urge to cower. In spite of his size, Crowley had an ability to appear out of nowhere that stunned Ban. "I am aware of the sacrifices you have made. The King is. And I hesitate to ask it again, but I must. I need to know if the Wall is down. If these…Forsaken…are coming in from the Headlands as well, to surround the capital. With the loss of the Observatory at Greymane Manor, any chance we have of seeing their approach in time is to put paws on the ground."

"But…Evelyn."

"I can assure you, Master Russell, that if your Evelyn remains with my Lorna, that their safety will be tantamount."

Ban sighed, rose from his hunker, and shook. That was indeed the greatest guarantee he could ask for. "I'll be back." He muttered to Evelyn, took a deep breath, and stepped into his ground eating lope.


	11. Chapter 11

Cross Gilneas. On foot. It was insanity. He was…Banastre Russell. Fop. Dandy extraordinaire. Physical effort was beneath him, it mussed his linen and laces. But here he was, charging along, the only sound that of his paws hitting the dirt, and his regular, unlabored breathing. Most of the groups were following the roads, which took them east of the Blackwald, the long away around, curving up and back west to drop into the capital. He travelled due north, dodging trees and leaping brambles. Once he reached the inlet that surrounded the city in water, he'd turn… he doubted if the main population was well aware of their burgeoning worgen population and the last thing he wanted was to run into any of his people armed and unaware of the force coming behind him. Let Genn, Liam, even Crowley, do the talking then. His job was to reconnoiter, not to reintroduce the worgen into Gilnean society.

The trees were shrinking, their depth and darkness thinning, the undergrowth thickening. The ground turned soggy under his paws, then toes as he went into his human form before stepping out into the marshy shore just south of Gilneas City.

Home. He could just…go home. Cross the southern bridge, walk through the city, and pass through the door to his house. It would be so damned easy, and everything looked fine. But things weren't fine… he felt it deep in his gut. That portion of his soul that had been born imbued told him so, and now it walked hand in hand with the powerful cursed blessing upon him. He moved, not around the city as he'd planned, but straight towards the southern bridge, into the city.

It was odd to walk the streets, and odder to have people go out of their way to avoid him. He had been impeccable, now he was just a scrawny young man with long hair, a beard, filthy, rumpled clothing and bare, muddy feet. He was…disreputable, and the very idea made him laugh. He'd always been that, now he looked it.

"Master Russell."

Damn it all to hell and back…. That boy was a bad, bad, bad pence, Evelyn was quite correct. "Your Highness?" At least Liam had guards, again. And only one of the four of them was looking askance at Ban, the other three were recognizable from the Night of Affliction, and obviously the recognition went both ways.

"You don't…appear to be quite yourself." Liam gave him a lopsided grin, and Ban glared back. "Where were you headed?"

"Home to get a few things, and then, as Lord Crowley orders, north into the Headlands to check the Wall."

"Ah." The prince nodded in agreement. "Take a couple of my guards with you, they'll make certain you make it home and aren't picked up for vagrancy or such. The repercussions of that are nothing we have to time to fix…"

Ban sighed. The day that 'picked up for vagrancy' was a serious proposition for his future was no day he wanted any part of. "Thank you, your highness." He muttered, and thankfully, both of the volunteered guards were ones who recognized him. They escorted him in silence, up to his door, and stood back when he secured the extra key from its hiding place in the cast iron lantern hanging next to the door. "Thanks." He said, and moved into the shadowed silence of his home.

Nothing had changed. That was the first unnerving reality that hit him. The carved urn that had held an elbow full of apricot roses meant for Evelyn's wedding still rested on the hallway table, a few scattered, brown petals on the rug beneath. There was dust everywhere, and a sullen, heavy smell hung in the air. He frowned, striding through the house, it was like that in every room, every set of curtains pulled tightly closed, a mausoleum instead of the place he'd grown up in… until he hit his own room. It had been systematically rifled; everything was opened, out of place, laid out on the burgundy cover of his bed.

"Damn, Evelyn." He muttered, throwing open the carved door to his wardrobe. She'd also been through that with a vengeance; most of his morning and afternoon clothes were gone. But his boots were still in place, and she'd left his small pile of arcane tomes alone. He supposed it could be much, much worse. He slid on a pair of boots, threw the books in a bag, and moved into the hallway.

Not coming back anytime soon. It was as if his very soul whispered it, and he moved into his parents' rooms. He was not permitted in here, never had been…he'd had marked tendencies, especially as a child, towards pocketing items that had attracted his attention…a source of no end of consternation and frustration to his mother, especially. "Banastre is not a thief, he's just…" Just whatever it was that he was. "They're dead, you fool." He growled to himself. His mother wasn't going to come out of the hallway hissing like a banshee. There was not going to be any stern and disappointed talk from his father. No eye rolling from Bram. He was it. Everything in that room belonged to him.

He emptied his mother's jewelry box into a pillowcase, and upended his father's household account box on top of it. He twisted the pillowcase into a knot, ran it under his shirt, and tied it in place. Not all gone, not if he had anything to do about it. He came back down the steps, and out the front door… his escort was still here, but they now held the reins of a lean seal colored hunter with Greymane's colors on its saddle pad. "From his highness." The guard holding the gelding's reins offered, and Ban nodded. It would be good to ride for awhile, clear of the city, at least. "May the Light speed your way, Master Russell." The other said when Ban swung into the saddle and gathered up the reins. "And, in case you have need of it, a writ from the King… marking you as one of his personnel." The man offered a package up, bound in ribbons, still sealed with wax.

"Thank you." He replied honestly, pirouetting the hunter and riding down the streets towards the northern bridge.

There were a lot of guardsmen on the streets, but in spite of his bedraggled appearance, he gained little of their attention as he passed through. He wasn't stopped when he rode through the gates; he only received a wave and nod from the watch. Their eyes went right back to staring north, and Ban understood. A disreputable Gilnean male was low on their list of priorities; they were too busy watching the north.

"Hup." He muttered, and the hunter settled into a comfortable hand gallop, headed resolutely north.

He travelled for four days on horseback, before finally leaving the hunter behind at a crossroads inn, and fell back into the stride he knew best, his own. The horse had let him rest, but now, over the broken ground of the Headlands, it would just hamper his passage.

He smelled them long before he placed eyes on them. The air should be clean, crisp, smell of heather, evergreens and melting snow. Instead, it reeked of bloating death and he dropped into a slow lope. His ears caught the sounds of vehicles, ponderous and squeaky, and he dropped belly to the ground and wiggled his way from undergrowth to undergrowth until he reached a vantage point and got his first view. Any doubts that this was serious, any hopes that they could stand, fled in that moment.

Evelyn.

So many. So…very dead. He'd been born with a flowing imagination, the sort that woke him up at midnight breathless and sweating. He'd imagined this. He'd dreamed this, from his studies. But to actually see it, he'd never truly considered that idea. An army, moving down the King's Road from the Wall, not only undead but…

His eyes narrowed and he tasted the air. It couldn't be, but the description was the same as one he'd come across way too many times. The description was another one of those dreams to shake him awake and leave him scared and alone in the dark. Orcs. Those were definitely orcs. Horde. The Horde was crossing the Headlands, in league with the Scourge. These…Forsaken, as those who had more intelligence than he had been given labeled them. Both of his great nightmares moved across Gilneas, together.

He whined softly, his ears flicking as he tried to convince himself to move on north. His duty was to check the Wall…

And only an idiot would think that the Wall still stood with these having crossed it. The Wall was down, as suspected. He didn't need to go any farther, in fact, he needed to fall back as fast as he could and bring this news to Genn. The City must be evacuated….

Coming into the City was bittersweet, the streets cleared like a flood before the returning worgen, and Evelyn sighed. It was foolish to have thought that they'd be accepted back easily, and she wasn't a fool. Poor Ban, so much of him was tied up in how others saw him, this was going to be painful. She tried to school her features into the same calm distain that Lorna managed, but knew she failed. Not their fault. Surely people had to understand that…

"Be strong." Lorna murmured, and Evelyn nodded, trying not to actually look at the people who were trying both to get out of the way, yet still see what was going on. She barely heard Genn's speeches. Barely heard Crowley's booming exhortations. "Still Gilneans. Still loyal…"

She didn't even quite see where he came from. One second there had been nothing, and the next moment, Ban dropped from the terrace closest to Genn's horse, landing in the midst of several bystanders. They squealed and moved away from him, but he powered through them, bouncing from a wall to jump over some that did not move fast enough.

Evelyn's heart plummeted. If it was possible, he was thinner, a ragged, desperate edge clinging to him. His paws left bloody prints on the cobblestones, and he gasped for air so deeply that each breath sounded like a barking cough. He had run himself into the ground…

Her expression must have been mirrored by Lorna, who pushed her mount into the crowd, opening up a passage for Evelyn to press forward. She took advantage of it, unmolested by Genn's guards, by Liam's guards and the watchful Crowley as she pushed up to the King. Ban was pressed into the small space between Genn's warhorse and a brick wall, and only because she was getting close made her able to hear Ban's voice.

"They have breached the Wall, your Majesty." He coughed. "They were halfway through the Headlands, moving south, when I found them. Orcs and Scourge, moving together. They have machines of war, more catapults. Troops, many many troops."

She slid from her cob and moved around the front of Genn's horse. Ban stank, the smell she usually knew from desperate, thrashing worgen who had been fighting a trap for hours. His breathing had calmed into a rattle that, if possible, sounded even worse than the coughing. "They're maybe four, five days away now. We have to evacuate the City…"

Evelyn hissed at the words, that was a phrase she never wanted to hear again, especially from Ban, but his desperation was contagious.

"His words match those of the Kal'dorei who can turn into birds and fly." Crowley growled. "I wanted to hear it from one of our own, Genn, but I accept it now. Evelyn, take Banastre home, care for him as best you can. I will send help later for him, but a bath and sleep is what he needs now."

Ban's dull, gray eyes fell on her face and he struggled up to his paws. "Home, Evelyn." He breathed, "While we still have it."

He staggered and wove his way home, and she walked beside him, heartsick. He dropped the moment the front door closed behind him, on the floor of the hallway. "Don't even try to make me move." He warned, and she sighed. She recognized the tone, and even the words, but now they were delivered in a deep, gravelly choke, and he wasn't lamenting his latest hang over.

"Let me see." He reluctantly let her grasp a paw and take a long, hard look at it. Swollen, bruised, the pads split and bloody…she'd never seen the like. She treated her hunting mastiffs much better than he'd treated himself these past few days. "Bah." She sighed, dropping it and heading for the bathroom. A bath, yes. And then she needed to get him into a bed. And somehow, in the middle of all of this, get food down him. Food that he would keep down. If there was to be yet another evacuation, he needed his strength.

"Don't you dare lick them!" She growled when she heard the telltale noises of him doing just that. He sighed in disgust, but the noise ceased. It was like dealing with a strange miscegenation of a hung over Banastre who'd been in the worst bar fight of his life and a mangled mastiff who'd come out on the thin end of a kennel fight.

"It hurts." He whined, and she sighed. Of course it hurt.

"I know, Ban." She mourned, coming out of the bath. "The water is cold…."

He shuddered at the very idea, lying flat on his mother's prized rug, staring blankly at the pattern of the wallpaper before him. "No cold. I feel ill enough, please, Evie."

She swallowed down a lump in her throat. He sounded almost like he had when he was Changing, and that was not a night she wanted to remember. "I'll go light the heater." She promised, and he remained silent, about as much agreement as she was going to get out of him.

She stoked the heater, filling it with coal and lighting it with the ease of long practice, then returned upstairs, sitting and cradling Ban's head in her lap. He rolled an eye open to regard her, but that was all the reaction she got from him, and it wasn't long before he closed it again. "Love you, Evie." He muttered, and she rubbed one of his ears.

"I love you as well, you great big fool." She joked, resting against the wall and sighing.

"No." He dissented. "I love you, Evelyn Whittaker."

She chuckled, as usual, his timing was an atrocity. "This would better be done later, Ban." Obviously she was not going to get romance or roses from this one, even his brother had awkwardly managed flowers.

He meant to snort, but it started a coughing paroxysm and his legs stiffened out in front of him. "Later." He finally managed. "When is later, Evelyn? All I've done is run since that night. I didn't tell you before. I'm going to tell you now."

"Fine. You've told me. I love you. Does that mean I can keep the ring?"

His eye opened wide, and he stared at her in stunned disbelief. She grinned at him, and he just snorted, burying his face in her lap. "Of course. Keep the ring." He growled, and she rubbed his ears gently.

It didn't take long for the water to heat, and she drew a bath, going back downstairs to stare at him in defeat. He wasn't big…for a worgen….but she had no idea how she was going to get him upstairs. He'd fallen into the lassitude of one pushed too far finally allowed to stop, and she hated to prod him along. "Ban?"

"No." He growled.

"Ban, please." He had to. She couldn't move him, he either had to move himself, or she had to go for help. "I'll go ask Crowley…."

That was enough to get him moving; he surged to his paws and climbed the stairs, vanishing into the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a pointed snick, and she sat back on the floor, tired and lost. When was this going to stop?

There was silence, long and drawn out, and she sighed. If she was a wagering woman, she'd lay gold guineas on the fact that he was probably asleep in the bathtub…which was chilling. She climbed the stairs, and bashfully pushed the door open…maybe he wasn't in his worgen form, and if he wasn't…

He was still in his lupine form, curled up in the steaming water, his chin propped on the edge of the tub. He opened his eyes when the door opened, and she froze in dismay. "I thought you'd fallen asleep…"

"No. Not yet. I think I'm too tired to, at least without some brandy."

"Good." She agreed, pulling the stool up next to the tub, pushing her sleeves up, and grasped the long handled bath brush. The faster they got through this, the faster she could get him dried and settled in a bed, his belly warmed with that brandy. "You really believe we need to evacuate?" She finally asked, and he growled.

"Evelyn, the Scourge and the Horde are both moving this way. Undead and orcs."

"Word is that they are allied, now." His coat was beautiful, thick and dark blue, his ruff black, a black stripe fading down his back. "One and the same."

"Doesn't change the fact that we have both of our worst enemies bearing down upon this city. We need an evacuation. Gilneas is becoming an untenable position."

"But…" Gilneas was all that they had. When they'd pulled back behind the Wall, they'd cut themselves off from everything else. She knew the names of other kingdoms as rote learning; Stormwind, Lordaeron, Alterac, Dalaran, Kul'Turas, and Strom. They had seemed doomed to fall to the Scourge, lost…that was why the Wall existed. The thought of asking them for help, if they had survived without Gilneas's aid this long, made Evelyn's stomach roll.

"But nothing." He retorted, pointedly ignoring her as she unwound the mess he'd made of his beard. She soaped it, rinsed it, and combed it with her fingers.

"Dalaran?" She asked warily. Perhaps there was a bright spot in all of this. "If it exists, still…"

He laughed, almost a shadow of his regular self, and she grimaced at him. "Oh, yes, Evelyn. Forget the fact that I am an overlarge dog, forget the fact that I am Gilnean and we hid when you needed us the most… Can I train here to be a mage?"

"Damn it, Ban, that wasn't our call. We were babies; you were still in short pants when the Wall locked…." He'd been five when the order was given, she'd been four. She barely remembered those days. Ban had a much better memory than was natural, she was certain he had a much better recollection of that time than she did, but she wasn't going to allow him to accept the blame of that time. It had been Genn's order, one last desperate action to rescue his people. Right or wrong, it was long gone. And the Affliction Ban carried was likewise not his doing, it had been brought to him by those who lived on the other side of the Wall, everybody knew they were the population carrying the Affliction. So they had been plagued and afflicted, it seemed like a perfectly good reason to close the Wall against them… And now, they seemed to have been plagued, afflicted, and dominated by the Orcish Hordes. "So far, all it seems we have on the other side of the Wall is Scourge, Orcs, and feral worgen."

"And odd elves."

"And odd elves." Those weren't the elves of Evelyn's schooling. Her lessons had been of the Quel'dorei, living north of Lordaeron, probably lost to the Scourging. "But they're pretty…." Ban had always had a roving eye, quick to respond to a pretty girl. She was surprised he treated Lorna Crowley with such formality, and now, these lovely creatures were planted squarely before him. However, his reaction to them had not been at all what she was expecting, he'd almost seemed…disapproving…when faced with one of their women.

He wrinkled a lip, exposing one lethal fang in disgust. "They need clothes. And they're…wrong."

She exploded in laughter, Ban, believing a woman needed more clothing? He must be truly ill. He growled at her, snapping the air perilously close to her hand and she snatched it away as if it had been burned. Was he contagious? If he bit her, would she…?

"I don't like them, Evelyn. They're indecent. And they're wrong." And he'd apparently decided he'd had enough of his bath, standing and climbing out of the tub. He stood still while she dried him as best she could, gave a defiant shake, drenching her and the bathroom, and stalked off towards his room.

"Odd fool." She sighed, staring around at the devastation. Now, she needed a bath more than ever.

She had finished hers, dressed, and peeked in on Ban, relieved to see that no, he had not needed brandy to get him to sleep….he was stretched out on the floor in front of the grate, peacefully snoozing…when the door bell sang.

A quick peek through the heavy, drawn curtains identified both Crowleys on the door step, Darius in human form. She opened the door, letting them into the entryway, wishing she'd taken the time to at least air the house. "He's asleep upstairs." She stated, and Darius nodded.

"Good. We've started the evacuations already…"

Evelyn locked her teeth together, not again. She wasn't going again. "We're moving the civilians out now." He continued, either unaware or uncaring, "But, the pair of you are, of course, not considered civilians by the Crown. The expectation is that you will stand in the City?"

"Of course I will, and Ban is a mage. A damn good mage. He wouldn't coward out…"

Crowley bridled at her words, shaking his head. "If Banastre chose to evacuate now, I would not consider him a coward, Miss Whittaker. He is, by upbringing, a merchant. He's already done much more than Gilneas or the Crown had any rights to ask of him. He is a mage, he's proven that, but every word I've heard is that he is a mostly untrained mage. We can't expect him to hold the line like that. And now…" He glanced up at the ceiling, "He is no shape for scouting. I'd respect him if he decided to pull back; I just don't believe he will."

"And I won't leave him again."

"I wouldn't ask it of you." He placed a pouch on the hallway table next to him. "Just do me a favor, Miss Whittaker… when we call for the final evacuation, go. And make certain he does as well. We will need Gilneans to rebuild what is ours. As long as we persist, we have a chance. That is why Genn decided to pull back behind the Wall, as wrong as I believe that decision was, I respect why he did. In the end, Miss Whittaker, glorious deaths don't carry the day." He rested his fingertips on the pouch. "Make certain he gets at least one of these down him. All would be preferable, but I've come to the conclusion that Banastre Russell is a stubborn one. And be ready to go."

Ban woke slowly, every muscle in his body burning. He slept on the floor of his own room, the coal in the grate long since burned down to ash. Someone had covered him with a heavy throw, but had left him to sleep. "Ow." He mourned, wobbly when he struggled to his feet.

"You're awake." Evelyn moved through the door without pause, "Crowley says you're to drink these." She placed a tray with several small corked bottles, filled with red fluid, on his nightstand. "I've packed most of what we'll need when the call comes. If there's anything special you want, you'd better see to it now."

He flicked an ear, listening beyond the wall. The City felt silent, deserted. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days. Most of the civilians have already been sent ahead. We're to hold here as long as possible, give them as much time as we can, before we fall back as well."

"Fall back to where?" Where to go when they had turned their back on their neighbors?

"Keel Harbor. And then, someplace called Teldrassil?"

"I've never heard of it." Ban admitted. Although he had paid little attention to his tutors, he usually remembered most of what they had said to him. He knew Keel Harbor, of course, it was where he'd learned to sail while on holiday for a few years, but the other place meant nothing to him.

"It's across the ocean. West. Where the Kal'dorei hail from. They have sent ships, they're at Keel, waiting."

Waiting to evacuate his people. Those responsible for the Affliction, and they were going to be responsible for the safe exodus of everything he held sacred. There just didn't seem to be another option.

"The city feels empty." With warning, two days was enough to effect a large scale evacuation.

"The royal family is still here. The Crowleys. The army. The guards. Those who have proven themselves, but otherwise, you're correct, it's empty." Mostly empty and ready to take the brunt of an attack, to allow their evacuees to head northwest, towards Keel Harbor. He didn't like it…north was the Headlands…what if the assault declined to hit the capital, and instead moved in a westerly direction…hitting the refugees first? But they were pinned in…south was the coastal toe hold and north was the Wall. Keel did indeed seem to be their only hope, if there were ships there for an evacuation.

"I'm doubting those are precious little bottles of brandy." He motioned at the vials, and Evelyn picked one of them up, holding it to the light.

"No, unless brandy now comes in red. I'd guess they're healing potions."

Fair enough idea. He'd still be tired, but they should take care of the screaming ache in his paws and the burning pain in every muscle. He took the one from her grasp, uncorked it, and tossed it down. Yep. Definitely healing potion, he'd recognize that taste anywhere. It settled into the pit of his belly, burning, and he tingled for a long moment before it waned and he was left standing taller. He chased it down with another, and then stopped, shaking his head when Evelyn offered him another.

"I'm as good as those are going to make me, and we might need them soon enough." He watched her nod, and replace them in her battered pack. "You said we're packed?"

"Yes. I got everything you were carrying… your mother's jewelry and the gold, the books. Food. Gear. Guns, ammo. Your horse has been returned, my horse is ready, a brace of mastiffs for the journey. I'll release the others onto the streets during the assault… they'll die well." She counted them off on her fingers, and Ban nodded. She sounded ready to him, and she had a better idea of what they would need anyway. He was used to living off of his teeth and claws, and worst case scenario, would be able to fall right back into that.


	12. Chapter 12

The bells of Gilneas tolled that afternoon, and Ban sighed. Evelyn glanced up, nodded, and grasped the pair of coaching arms sitting on the table next to her. She had the horse, she had the dogs, she would carry the vast majority of their belongings. Ban would go into the fight naked, relying on his magicks, his claws and teeth. He couldn't be burdened and still be as lethal and fast as he was accustomed to be. "Ban." She sighed, and he turned towards her, his wedge ears focused on her.

"What?"

"Give them hell."

He nodded sharply, rested ebony sharp claws on her shoulder, then vanished out of the door. He would meet the assault head on; she would stand further back, with Liam and his guards. The worgen had the fluid speed and devastating ferocity to maintain a constant contact with Forsaken forces, they'd seen that the night they had attacked the city. Ban's natural speed and grace supplemented his arcane abilities, he'd be at the point of contact all of the way into the center of the capital, striking from rooftops, tearing down alleys, climbing walls and vanishing into shadows.

"For Gilneas." He growled, spinning and leaping out of the door. He was gone in a blink of her eye, and Evelyn moved to the stable, grasping the reins of her cob. Unlike the last assault, she wasn't a bystander, scared and useless. She'd stand today, and help put the fear of Gilneas into her enemies.

She tied the coupling leashes to her saddle, gave her firearms one last check, and rode silently through the streets, ignoring the flowing mobs of worgen bound to the northern bridge. They moved around her, making way for the woman, her horse, and the growling, stiff legged mastiffs. It was surreal to watch, the worgen had gone from being a nightmare to be, if not their salvation, then their answer to a concerted and vicious response to their enemies. These Forsaken would know they'd been in a fight, at least.

"Miss Whittaker." Liam greeted calmly when she rode to his breastworks, and she nodded in response to him. They'd wait for the worgen to blunt the attack, wait for the Forsaken to get into the alleys and warrens of the city, where their dependence on siege engines would go against them.

"Your Highness." She answered, dropping the cob's reins on his neck and unlimbering the coaching arms. "Here we go again."

He grinned in response, "This is getting a tad dreary, I agree, Miss Whittaker."

There was an undeniable glory to unleashing his inner self, to allow himself to be Banastre, worgen mage… to be given the targets to just ride the wave of his rage. Nothing in sight required him to check, to be careful. His world was filled with things that just needed to die, and beside him….his pack mates giving into the same bloodlust. His heart sang with every howl of challenge rising from the rooftops, to the snarls and growls of Genn's pack. A pack of thousands, giving hue and cry to those who threatened them. Nothing brought twisted joy like turning an enemy combatant into a single sheep before a flood of wolves boiling from the sewers, the houses, dropping from the roofs. We are the worgen of Gilneas, Genn's pack! It rang in the very air, sang in his very blood.

Even though Evelyn understood it, the cacophony was beyond belief. Thousands of Gilnean worgen giving tongue to their rage, their fortitude and their outrage, bottled and echoing down the city's tight stone passageways…it sounded like a nightmare, although she was certain that she was awake. Even her mastiffs, bred and carefully raised to hunt these worgen, were silent, cowering in the face of such a din. The cob shifted uncomfortably beneath her, and she soothed him with a quick rub under his mane. "Shhh. It's fine."

The lead mastiff, tied to her saddle, froze, his eyes locked on the main throughway before them. His hair rose down his back and he gave voice to a strangled bark. Liam, standing next to her, glanced down at him, nodded, raising a gauntleted fist in the air. Evelyn had already leveled, sighting down the length of her rifle towards that direction. She saw worgen first, putting forth a spirited assault, leaping from house to house, shadows in the smoke of combat. Her first instinct, honed by months of hunting, was to take the shot on the largest male worgen present, a giant, stippled dun monster bouncing in and out of the fray, but she held back. No, not today. She was after….that.

Her first shot took the head of the driver of the catapult dead on, and the machine ground to a halt, half blocking the roadway. She exhaled, changed the sights to the second barrel, held breath, and took the second shot… downing the undead trying vainly to remove the corpse of the driver to take his place. Without thought, in the moment it took her to switch weapons, she uncoupled the first pair of mastiffs, the youngest, least trained, and least valuable of her dogs, and set them free.

"You!" She heard Liam snap an order, "Reload for Miss Whittaker!"

A young man appeared at her knee, and she handed off her ammo and the empty coaching arm with a mechanical ease. We can do this. We really can.

Ban was impressed, for all of his nightmares; this Scourge did not seem to be that frightening. Were the ones earlier better? Had they become anemic with time? This was not what he had envisioned when imagining the Scourging of Azeroth, the downfall of some of the greatest human kingdoms in existence…

…Just the front elements. Cannon fodder. He nodded to himself, as his mind worked it out. They were here to grind down Gilneas's defenders, while the elites readied for the assault. Worse would be coming later. He calmed himself, threw less of himself into the fray, held back and rationed….

"You've slowed." Crowley noted, and he about jumped out of his fur. Where had he come from?

"These are just fodder. The real threat still waits…"

There was respect in Crowley's remaining eye, "I agree, Russell. Others are coming to that conclusion, and they are falling back towards the center, while we try to work out where they're coming from. It might be a feint, send their poor forces to the bridge we expect them to cross while their elite move to another bridge…

"They need the bridges to cross their vehicles…"

"Agreed. We blow the others. We force them to move onto the merchant's bridge. But we have to leave one of them open…"

Otherwise the Scourge would leave them here, deny the siege, and turn to their evacuees moving to Keel. They had to remain a target as long as possible…draw the assault out. Give the evacuees time.

"We need to leave the northwestern one intact." For their own retreat. "We blow the southeastern and southwestern."

"Too obvious. We'll just have to effect our own retreat without a bridge. If we leave the Cathedral bridge up, we all but yell that we're going to retreat that way."

Ban nodded. The few yards of open water would mean little to the pack trying to escape the capital, and if it came to that, they could make certain the unafflicted made it across quickly.

There was an ominous boom, and Evelyn startled. Two more followed in quick succession, and Liam sighed. "Crowley blew the other bridges. Means he thinks they may be trying to move behind with better troops."

"Makes too much sense." She agreed. It was odd to deal with thinking worgen, she was just happy that they hadn't been this brilliant when she had been hunting them. "Merchant's bridge still up?"

"Yes. We still want them to come."

She grinned, of course they did. Otherwise, this was all pointless, and they could have just evacuated to Keel with the civilians.

One moment, Ban was having a wonderful time killing and the next, a chill breeze ruffled his coat, and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction it had come from. There was a…woman….on a skeletal horse… behind him. No, not a human woman, she still had the long sweep of an elf's ears, intact and covered in flesh. The remains of her horse was caparisoned in purple silk, barded in bone, and she was surrounded by several undead, their attentions all focused on Banastre.

"Mage." She marveled in thickly accented, echoing nordkommon, and Banastre felt suddenly chilled and ill. "Worgen…mage. How very fascinating. That part of your soul survives the Change. The Apothecary Society will find this…interesting. And when they are done with you, you will serve the Dark Lady."

Ban wasn't quite certain what the Apothecary Society was, or indeed, who the Dark Lady was, but he knew when he was being threatened, and he had a decent idea of what he was being threatened with. The rage part of him tried to rise, but he viciously tamped it down. No, assaulting this was death…his…and death here did not bring a reprieve. It was time to run, if possible.

He spun, but he had no purchase on the suddenly slick cobblestones. In fact, he wasn't going anywhere, literally frozen into place, ice wrapping up his legs. He yelped, then gave voice to rank despair, his voice rising from the yelp into a fully fledged howl dwindling into a desperate ky-yi.

Several howls responded, Crowley's deep bay the closest and the one filled with the most comprehension. "Coming!" It promised, picked up by many more.

"Be silent!" The woman hissed, and ice strangled Ban, winding around his muzzle like rope.

"Too late, milady." One of her retinue noticed the obvious, "He's gotten the alarm off…."

Crowley boiled into the small courtyard, striking three before they realized he was there. Flesh flew, the stench of rot filling Ban's nostrils as he struggled to free himself. With his front paws frozen to the ground, and basically gagged, there were no arcane motions, no words of power to call upon. He wasn't massive enough, strong enough, to break the ice mundanely… and he was choking to death as the bonds around his muzzle tightened. Suddenly he couldn't smell rot anymore; his nostrils were filled with the smell of his own blood. His world grayed around him… and he knew darkness.

"What the hell!" Evelyn screeched when Crowley dropped a still Banastre beside her. She dismounted, dropping the rifle, and buried her fingers in Ban's deep blue coat. He was smeared with blood and vomit, his… but his sides still rose and fell, she could feel his heart pulse under her fingertips. Bubbles of blood and mucus proved air still moved through his nostrils.

"Darius?" Liam demanded, and the massive dark worgen shrugged.

"I don't know what it was that got a hold of him. It was all we could do to get him free, and whatever it is that got a hold of him is still on the ground in Merchant's Square. It's an elf. Female. Undead, but not…rotting, a master with a bow. Almost like the old stories of the Elven rangers, but it's definitely not alive…"

"Damnation." Liam hissed, "Well, we knew this was coming eventually…"

Evelyn scrambled for one of the left over healing potions from her pack, grasping Ban's lower muzzle as she uncorked it with her other hand. He convulsed, let go of a gasping snarl, and she felt two things that left her cold and suddenly desperately ill. The first was the grind of shattered bones under her grasp, and the second were his teeth piercing her skin. Bitten. I've been…bitten….

She let go of a blistering stream of profanity that would have done a massively drunk Ban proud.

"What?" Liam demanded, and Crowley echoed her cursing with a single, and singularly profane, term.

"She's been bitten. I can smell her blood." He flattened his ears against his skull, then hissed. "It's too damned bad, Evelyn. Give him the potion before he dies."

Right. She trickled the potion over his clenched jaws, still wrapped around her hand, making certain that her hand was also doused. "Drink it, damn you." She snarled, pushing her fist deep into the V of his throat, normally protected by his jaw. He squirmed, and she masterfully released the pressure the moment he choked air in, upending the bottle at the exact moment. He released her hand to cough, and she snatched it back, holding to it her chest and avoiding the stares around her. "He got most of it." And she got all of the next, tossed off with a defiant aplomb. It was too late to cry. She had to keep going.

Ban came to, tucked up underneath a set of breast works. He could smell the first undercurrents of fear, desperation, flowing beneath resolve and the bitter smell of gunpowder and blood. He could smell Evelyn, she had the same smell of panic and desperation, and that was more than enough to get him to scramble to his feet. He was immediately slammed back down, Crowley's massive clawed hand pushed into his skull, ramming his beard into the cobblestones.

"Stay down, pup." The elder snapped, "Or you'll be missing a head instead of your muzzle."

Thoroughly scolded, he lay back down and puzzled. Missing…muzzle? The memory flooded back, and he gasped, burying his face in the fall of Evelyn's coat. "Shh." She soothed, rubbing his ears for a second, before she reached over his head to grasp a newly loaded rifle passed to her.

"What happened?" He managed, although he knew the most embarrassing portion of it. He'd had his rear end handed to him, well beaten, and had required Crowley's aid to rescue him…again.

"The elite units we were expecting have arrived. Oh, don't wilt, pup, there was no way you could have stood against one of them alone."

Like that was supposed to make him feel any better. He sighed, shaking his head; at least he'd never considered himself a particularly brave young man, that had been Bram. He peered through the breaks in the breastworks, and nodded to himself. As long as he could see them, he could cast, and leave the guns to an amazingly competent Evelyn.

"We have to fall back." Crowley finally stated the obvious, as bad as things were, Ban was surprised it hadn't been called for earlier. "Now that Banastre is up, we fall back to Genn…"

His ears drooped further…they'd held this increasingly untenable position this long because of him? "Where?" He asked, pushing the embarrassment down…he was good at that, he had plenty of practice.

"Genn is holding in Greymane Court, with Liam. We promised to go as soon as you were able to make the trip." Evelyn calmly noted between shots, moving with a completely thoughtless ease. "Are you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

It was a harsh trip; the streets were chaos and devastation. Crowley took the front; Ban clung to the back, keeping Evelyn in the middle. His stomach tossed and turned, and he found himself staring at the roofs. At the alleyways, even though he knew that any shadows he'd see there would be friends this day.

He hurt, he was tired, and he'd had enough. He could just climb a building, make his way onto one of those roofs, over the way, into the moat and…. Leave Evelyn behind. Leave Crowley, and all of those others who seemed to want to count on him…behind. Somewhere, somehow, along the way he'd become an unlikely hero. And he didn't appreciate it.


	13. Chapter 13

There were so many in the Courtyard, and Ban took a long look around. Genn. Liam. Lorna. The Royal Guard. A roiling, snarling mass of worgen…truly the best that Gilneas still had to offer.

"There's no way out of here." He didn't mean to say it, but things like that tended to fall out of his mouth like unwanted rain during a flood. If it was an awkward and unwarranted statement, then he was the one guaranteed to say it. Evelyn glanced at him in concern, and even Crowley nodded warily.

"I have faith in Genn." He finally stated when Ban's stare grew long. "He is the lord of the pack. He wouldn't sacrifice us unless there was no other choice. There are several other places we could stand at, with escape routes. There must be some reason to choose here. He has my daughter here. His son…."

Put that way, Ban felt selfish and small, and he dropped his head. The elder clapped him on the back, shook his head, before loping off to speak to Genn. "I still don't like it." He muttered mutinously to Evelyn, who only nodded. "I'm not looking for a valiant death…"

"Ban, we're here. It's too late. I agree with Lord Crowley, put your faith in the King. Lorna, Liam, they wouldn't be here if this was truly as inescapable as it looks. The city is filled with ways in, ways out….You, of all people, should know that better than any."

He nodded. He was very familiar with the hidden ways in the Merchant's quarter, he'd been born there. Raised there, as a child with a gift of climbing and escape. A desire to hide. But he was unfamiliar with this quarter of the city, he'd avoided it, those who lived here had titles, great names. He had neither.

But she was correct, if it was a trap, he was now within it. He turned, facing the way out, standing to his full height and opening his hands at the ready. Come, if you dare. He lifted his own voice in the keening howl of the pack, singing his own battle call.

And, of course, they came.

There were so many of them, it seemed like every single one that Ban destroyed was replaced by three, a ceaseless wave of stubborn death that refused to accept its time had passed. He'd been pushed back, into something perilously close to a corner, when the trumpets sounded. They weren't Gilnean, they were expecting no reinforcements, and Ban blinked in dismay when the group rode boldly into the Courtyard. It was another one of those whatever they were, undead female elf with bow… but this one had what could only be a royal honor guard, and an aura of command that twisted his stomach.

"Genn!" She shouted, pointing unerringly at the King, and his face was still.

"Sylvanas." He identified, and Ban took a swallow. That was a name he'd run across in books before, the Quel'dorei ranger general… dead. Undead. Here, in Gilneas. The pack must have been making the same realization, he could feel them tense to leap, to attack, to swarm… and then he was pounded into the wall with a brutal, head spinning force.

"No, Father!" Liam. Liam was still up, if Ban could only orient himself.

"Liam! No, Liam!" Rage and anguish erupted from Genn, and still, Ban could not seem to come to his senses. He needed to get up. He needed to run. He needed to fight. He needed to do something more than lay here and twitch on the cobblestones.

"He took the arrow intended for you, Genn. How very brave." She even had the same insulting, lilting voice as the bitch who had gotten to him earlier. He wanted to kill. To maim. To destroy that which had already been destroyed. "It doesn't matter. I will tear your city down around your ears, Genn Greymane. There is no escape from here, you will die with him. And then you, and your pack, will serve me in death."

How long he lay there, he wasn't certain. All he knew was Genn's harsh, racking sobs, a sound he couldn't truly comprehend. Genn was iron. Steel. Unbending, unbreakable. He was the lord of the pack. King of Gilneas.

He felt Evelyn's presence, she was standing, and he still could not. "Ban?" She mourned, and he needed her touch, her voice. She knelt beside him, resting her open hands on his side. "Well, you're still alive." She breathed, smoothing his coat down. "Wake up, Ban."

"I'm awake." He muttered, finally managing to weakly scrabble his paws along the cobblestones.

"Is the pup hurt?" Crowley demanded, and Ban managed a thick, choked growl. Pup! Damned elder…. If he could only get up… Oh, who was he fooling? Crowley was intimidating even when Ban was at his best.

"I think he hit the wall when we were all thrown back. There's blood." He could feel her touch on the back of his head, and with it pointed out to him, felt wetness. "Liam?" The question was a mere whisper, and Ban forced his eyes open to watch Crowley's response. The elder bowed his head, then gave it a single sharp shake.

"The boy is gone."

No. He managed a snuffling whine, and Crowley sighed in agreement. "He's coming around. Do you still have any of those potions? I need him up and going, we need to withdraw. I need to be…with Genn."

"Several." She whispered, and Ban could feel Crowley move slowly away. He felt Evelyn grasp great handfuls of his guard coat, and felt her tears when she buried her face in the soft fur of his belly.

"Shhh…Evelyn." The world was still spinning, but he couldn't stay down like a broken bug. Not here. Not now.

"I'm sorry…Ban. Here." He managed to lift his head to swallow. Managed to stagger to his feet. And gave his voice to the rising howl of pain and anguish given by the pack, echoing through the empty streets.

And afterward, he felt sickly empty. Everything he'd, everything they'd, done had not been enough. The pack's son was down, and he felt unworthy to even gaze in that direction. Evelyn's hand was small when she slid her fingers into his grasp, and he pulled her close. Suddenly the fact that the offspring of their leaders had been here was not so much of a relief. They were trapped. Surrounded. With no place to run to. In an empty, desolate city so far from his memories that it seemed like a mocking nightmare, not home.

"Ah, Evelyn." He sighed, leaning his chin on her shoulder. All of it had been for naught. Once again, he stood in a falling Gilneas City and comprehended his own doom. Why had they brought him back for this? He could have been happy, in the headlands, in his den.

"Banastre, I love you. No matter what happens…" He cringed when she pushed away from him, only to wipe her nose on the sleeve of his finest coat. Well, it had once been his finest, she'd worn it to a sagging comfort that it had never had with him. It might still smell of his change, but it was most certainly hers now. "And we're going to make it. I just know it."

"It's getting dark." He noted morbidly, and she stepped on his paw for it. He yelped, and picked her up off of it, glaring at her menacingly.

"Yes, yes, yes." She grumbled in the same tone as his mother used when she was not amused by something he had done. "You're very big and scary. Now put me down."

He placed her down gently, as far from his paws as he could manage, and took a cautious step away from her. At least she wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't certain he could tolerate that. He settled to watch, and wait, doing his best not to stare at the somber knot of people surrounding Liam's still body, and the bowed Genn. Lorna peeled herself off, had a quick discussion with her father, and then strode deliberately straight towards the pair of them.

"Pick a house. Get some sleep while you can. There are rumors that the Scourge…" she wrinkled her nose defiantly, "Are outside the City with plague machines. If we need to make a run for it, you need to be as rested as possible. Our intelligence tells us dawn. We can hope it's right."

"Pick a house." Evelyn glanced around at the fine homes, gave a sharp nod, and pulled Ban towards one. The door was thoroughly locked, but locks rarely bothered Ban. A little magic in all the right places and…. He rested his claws on the lock plate and concentrated.

It popped open, and Evelyn gave him a stare. It was frightening how much she could look like his mother when she put her mind to it. "I know. I know. I'm deplorable."

"Actually, I was just thinking how useful you were." Her gaze was level and honest. That was a term he'd never heard used to describe him…that was a Bram word. Bram had been useful. Honest. Hardworking.

He shrugged it away, pushing the door open. The house was nice, very tasteful, and he felt like an interloper. But Lorna was right, he needed sleep. The two injuries…healing potions would heal the damage but not the exhaustion. Hour after hour of casting… Bram had laughed when he'd tried to explain how hard that was, but Ban was at the end of his fortitude. All he needed was a nice fine hearth and…

"Where are you going?" Evelyn asked, her voice a mere whisper.

"To sleep…?" He motioned at what seemed to be a particularly nice hearth, right down to the heavy rug before it.

"Ban, you are not a dog. Come."

He followed her warily into a bedroom, and stared when she imperiously pointed at the bed. He shrank into his human form, then nodded and climbed into the bed. He was almost asleep when he felt her sit next to him, heard her boots drop on the floor.

"Wha?" He demanded sleepily.

"You go right on to sleep Banastre, and don't be worrying about it."

He woke when the pack alerted, awakened by the soft yips as they began moving as a group instead of independently. When their voices changed from common, from human, and gave into the pack tongue, when they warned, and snarled, and pushed, they nudged him awake.

The enemy of the pack moves. Wake. Make ready. Soon. The moon falls. The sun rises. It is time.

He opened his eyes. As he'd already been told, it was moonset, false dawn. Evelyn was deeply asleep, burrowed into his side. He'd managed to sleep the night through, in a bed, still in human form.

"Evelyn, wake up."

She woke quickly, easily, warily. "What?"

"The pack runners are saying it's time."

"I heard nothing."

He rested a hand on her hair, and held his breath. Again, the voice of the pack, more insistent…. "There."

"I hear yips. A hunting pack's…yips. Of course." She stood, "You would understand them. So I was right…that is a language."

He nodded slowly, moving to the window and opening it, listening. Yes, he understood it. He felt it. "They seem to think we're withdrawing." He muttered, answering the conversation with his own sharply pitched dialogue. I'm awake. I hear. I understand. We come.

"Withdrawing how?" She demanded, and he shrugged in answer.

"They don't say." He carefully locked the window back, and she was ready to go by the time he'd finished. "Let's go figure it out."

"This is insane." Ban noted, staring down the hole. The stench of rats, of damp, assaulted his nostrils even in human form; it would be eye watering in worgen. And there was no way he was going down that hole in his human form...

"It's the only way out." Lorna didn't sound too certain herself, but she was probably correct. It was a tunnel, it was here, and it appeared to head in the right way. "My father says the pack is to move down it first, take care of the rats, then those of us who are not afflicted follow… since we have horses, and Evelyn still has dogs. It's going to be slow going to get the horses through that…" she waved at the stairwell in disgust.

"Eh." He agreed. It was large enough, but any sane horse would balk before going down there. But he'd come to the conclusion that neither Evelyn nor Lorna possessed a sane horse. "There are a lot of rats down there."

She laughed, "And we have a lot of worgen. You're a mage. Kill them. Turn them into something; just make sure the passage is clear."

Right. And now he was the local rat catcher.

It was more than a few rats down that hole. It was more than a lot of rats. It was a flood of rats, and Ban had never been fond of them when found singly. As a mage, he was among the first down the hole, and his ears were filled with their shrieks. He rolled into his casts, amusing himself by freezing them by the hundreds at a time. The cacophony grew, and he found himself laughing bitterly. Finally, he had a target he could kill en masse. Something to blunt his frustrations upon.

Evelyn tilted her head, listening down the hole. "It sounds like…."

"Banastre is having a rare good time." Lorna finished, and Evelyn had to nod in agreement. "How are…you….doing?"

Evelyn peeled off a glove and held her hand up. There was not a single mark from where Ban had bitten her, not a twinge when Lorna grasped her fingers and pressed warily. Lorna's hand was warm when she rested it against Evelyn's forehead, not chill as it would be if she was running a fever. She felt exhausted, but not ill. By now, she should have been showing some sign if she was going to Change. Even Ban, who had held the Change at bay for so long, had had symptoms this many hours after he'd been afflicted. He'd been obviously ill.

"By now, we'd be able to smell the Change upon her." Crowley grumbled, appearing in the doorway of the house they had moved Liam's body into. "She's well. And…" He glowered, "We are not to tell the pup. It was not his fault."

"I don't blame Ban!" Evelyn hissed, and Crowley shrugged.

"You may not. He will."

Evelyn nodded. It had been her own foolishness to put her fingers where a worgen was bound to bite them. If she had indeed been afflicted, it would have been her own damned fault, but Crowley was right. Ban would not see it that way. He'd blame himself. He'd grow moody, dark, and try to push her away. That was nothing she wanted to deal with.

"Agreed." Lorna nodded sharply. "No harm done. When are we moving Liam?"

"When the way is clear." He gazed down the hole, his ears pricked. "Which shouldn't be too long. The capital does not have enough rats to slake that one's rage."

Ban had run out of rats. It was a sad reality, but a reality nonetheless. They must have heard the noise taper off, because he smelled dogs, horses, and women coming. "It's clear." He confirmed, and Evelyn came into view, the coupling leash on her remaining mastiffs wrapped around her wrist, a wide eyed cob trailing at the end of his reins.

"Go." She directed, pointing ahead. "They have Genn…and Liam…behind us."

He nodded, dropping to all fours and loping ahead of her. He wasn't certain where this came out at, he was certain by the ceaseless dripping from the ceiling, and its unwavering westerly direction, that it passed beneath the water surrounding the city. It also went far, but the rats had kept close to the city side.

"Oh." He stopped when he came to the end. He was certain that this had not been planned, and it was just too much.

"Damn." Evelyn agreed when she came out into the new sunlight. "How… very…. wrong."

He whined in answer, raising questioning and sad eyes to Lorna when she appeared. She only nodded, unsurprised when she gazed out over the cemetery they'd come out in. "Yes, I know. So do they. The plan is to lay Liam to rest here, quickly, and make the run to Keel. It's not fitting, but it's the best we can do at this moment. We'll give him the funeral he deserves when we can. Until then, he stays in Gilneas. We may flee, but he will not."

Ban growled, glancing around. "I've been here before, but something feels…wrong." Many of his family had been buried here, and he remembered it as a calm, tranquil place to be. He'd always found it peaceful, but not today. Evelyn frowned, following his gaze.

"Right. My parents are here…and this isn't how…."

"Have the Forsaken defiled it?" Ban dreaded to ask, but he had to.

"No, Master Russell…the Forsaken have not defiled it. We have…accidentally." Krennan Aranas stepped into view, and Ban bowed in greeting. "We evacuated so many through here, in such a hurry, that we disturbed the graves. Will you help me placate our ancestors before Genn brings his son here?"

"Of…course." It was the least they could do… By Evelyn's sharp nod, she agreed. "What do you need?"

"Bring me any visible grave mementos…" Aranas sighed, "From the newer graves. Those are the ones most likely to be upset, and those have the youngest spirits. The ones most likely to still move, and to deny Liam rest."

Ban studied the ground, then nodded, heading for his own family's plot. They had died recently, in the Affliction. Their graves would still be fairly fresh. If they had been disturbed, then it was his duty to see them rest again. And, he should pay his respects, at least once, before he was run out of Gilneas. Evelyn was in step beside him; her family's plot was adjacent to his. She grasped his hand, and he squeezed gently.

It was as he feared; he could sense the turmoil when he grew close. He slid from his worgen form, shrank, and approached their graves. Evelyn would have made certain that they were buried correctly, with fine mementos, just as they had done earlier for her father when she'd come to them.

"Mother. Father. Bram. Aunt Lucy." It was surreal to be here, as dawn broke over Gilneas City to his east, under bombardment from the Forsaken that surrounded it, to kneel before his own grave marker. "Whose doing was that?" He asked, pointing at it morbidly. Surely it wasn't Evelyn; everything he'd heard was that she knew he was quite alive.

"The Crown did for everyone we knew had stood at the Cathedral." She answered, shaking her head. "None of these have been disturbed. They're all too old, too settled." She left her plot to stand behind him. "But these…"

He nodded, they were recent. Disturbed. He could feel the flow of outrage in the very air surrounding him.

"Mother. Father. Bram. Aunt Lucy." He tried again, resting a hand on each of his parents' mounds.

"Ban."

He swallowed nausea, of all the ones to come; it had to be the one he was least able to deal with. "Bram." He could feel Evelyn's hands fall to his shoulders, her fingers tight through his shirt.

"Forgive me."

His brother appeared over the mound to Ban's left, and he sighed, standing. "Bram, it wasn't your fault. You were sick."

"Why have you come here?" He looked just as Ban remembered, tall, honest, a bear of a man.

"The prince has died. We need to lay him to rest here, in Gilneas before we withdraw. But his resting place is disturbed; he will not know rest…"

"Liam has died? You flee Gilneas, with Evelyn?" The spirit's gaze left Ban's face, fixated to the side, where Evelyn stood.

"Yes."

"Keep her safe. And take what you are seeking from us. We'd be honored…"

He vanished as the first full beam of sunlight painted the cemetery. Evelyn cursed thickly under her breath, trying vainly to fight back tears, and he gave her a glance. "Don't bother. Let them go, Evelyn. For Liam. For our people. For Gilneas." He dug until he found what he was looking for, the sterling silver memento mori buried with each of them.

"Aranas…. Here." He pressed the objects into the alchemist's hands, and stood back. "Evelyn, we should go…."

"No." It wasn't Evelyn who disagreed, and Ban turned to the voice. The king, lord of the pack, stood behind him. Crowley and Lorna stood on each side of Genn. "You both have stood for Gilneas, at Liam's side. I would have you here now."

"We're…honored." Ban managed, falling into step behind the three, and the royal guard who carried Liam. He wrapped an arm over Evelyn's shoulder when they reached the Greymanes' tomb, and she leaned into him.

Ban had never been one for funerals, and up until everything had gone rotten, had experienced very little call to be at any. And those had occurred while he was out of his mind, running all out towards the call of the wilds to the north. Now he stood, one of only a handful, at the Crown Prince's burial. No ceremony, just this raw reality.

"May the Light bless the spirits of our ancestors, for they've allowed my son to rest in this holy ground. It is here, surrounded by the heroes and patriots of Gilneas, where he belongs." Genn boomed, and Crowley nodded.

Lorna stepped forward, taking the silken flower from her hair and tucking it into the cloth covering Liam. "You were a true man of the people, Liam. Unlike any Royal I ever met. We'll make them pay for this."

Her father stepped up beside her, resting the silver length of Liam's blade upon the shroud. "Gilneas will remember your courage forever, Liam."

Ban was stunned when Genn's gaze fell upon the two of them…surely not? He stepped forward when the pack lord nodded; delving in his pockets…he had nothing…nothing at all…but… He pulled the only thing there out, resting it beside Lorna's offering. "May the spirits of my family watch over you, Liam." The circlet of beads on a black ribbon… his last gasp of humanity, tied into his beard when he'd let go of everything else.

"Mine as well." Evelyn placed a golden locket in the center of the circlet, Ban recognized it as a gift from her father… given during a rare sober moment.

"We'll return, Liam, I swear this to you." Genn stated.

Ban loped along, keeping easy pace with Evelyn's cob. They were as silent as the group before them; Lorna mounted on her gray hunter, the two great male worgen framing her. Keel waited before them, their evacuees, and rescue…

Crowley's pace slowed, his ears flipped forward, and a split second later, Ban heard the same noise. He didn't need the wave forward, flattening into full running speed, surging past the three of them like they were standing still. He crested a rise overlooking Keel, and dropped to his belly. The assault on the capital had been by Forsaken troops, and now he understood where the orcs were.

"What the…?" He marveled, taking a longer look at the tableau before him. He'd never seen the like, great, giant trees… walking trees, attacking orcs. The road was open, and he saw nothing that seemed like it could approach his speed, so he powered into his fullest speed, bolting up the road to Keel. There were boats here, two different types, and if neither one belonged to their supposed allies, then he needed to stop Genn…Evelyn…. Crowley, from coming here.

There were Gilneans here, Kal'dorei as well, and both groups looked ready for war. A quick glance at the graceful sloops in Keel Harbor proved that their crews were Kal'dorei. "The King, Crowley, follow me…is it safe to bring them through?" He demanded of the closest Gilnean officer, and the man coughed a sigh of relief.

"We'd heard that the city was plagued… you're from the group that held?"

"Yes. Like I said, they follow…do I stop them or not?"

"No. By now, the Forsaken are coming up behind them. This really is our only hope. We've been waiting…hoping… that you made it out."

That made too much sense, and Ban nodded, spinning to bolt back, coursing down the road. The group had paused, and Crowley stared at him when he rolled up. "Well? Why do I hear bombardments again? From Keel?"

"There are horde forces attacking Keel. Boats. Orcs… and a great dirigible."

Genn cursed, and Crowley glowered, his eye narrowing. "And our so called allies? The Kal'dorei?"

"Are at Keel. With the promised boats. And military forces. Our people are there, as well, on the boats. They're waiting for any sign of us…you."

"We're on our way. And thank you, Master Russell, your speed is truly a gift to us all." Genn nodded, and Ban was happy he was covered in fur and couldn't blush. "So we need to break an Orc blockade to get our people out of Keel."

Ban contemplated the situation, nodded, and asked an impertinent question in the pack tongue. Genn exploded into immediate laughter, and even Crowley chuckled. The two women looked blankly at the three of them until Genn clapped Ban on his shoulder. "I certainly do hope that Orcs taste better than the undead when bitten, Master Russell. I invite you to go find out!"

Ban grinned, lolling his tongue, and exploded into speed again, headed into the fray. He was so deeply content that Lorna had to bellow his name at least three times before it filtered in that she was calling him.

"What?" He demanded, rolling up to her. She pointed upwards, and he craned his neck… The dirigible. Massive, intimidating, ugly, it filled the sky above him. "It's too far away." He noted, although they were obviously not too far away for it to attack. He was not an impressive mage, and that was well out of his range.

"We can get there. The Kal'dorei have a way."

Ban stared at the 'way' dubiously. "You want me to ride that…there?" He pointed at the animal, and then up at the airship.

"Can you get up there another way? Some arcane way?"

"I'm a terrible mage."

"Is that a yes, or a no?"

He glared at her, and then at Evelyn coming up from the docks. "That's a no. I don't have another way to get up there."

Evelyn laughed, and his glare sharpened. "He hates heights. Always has." She chuckled, "He's not going to happily hop on one of these and fly up there." He bowed his head…after that, he was going. She knew it. He knew it.

"Fine. How do I steer it?" The brilliantly colored bird animal thing in question gazed at him in bright doubt, and he didn't blame it. He slid into his smaller human form, and allowed one of the Kal'dorei to help settle him on it. He listened to the quick lesson, picked up its reins, said a quick prayer to all that was holy and good, and clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The world fell out from beneath him, his stomach jumped, but he was airborne.

"Don't look down, Russell!" Lorna laughed, and he cursed her, and her entire family line. It didn't help that Evelyn crowed in absolute joy beside him. She'd always been fearless; he'd always been the coward. Just follow Lorna. Keep your eyes on her. And do not vomit; you will never live it down… Ah, yes. Banastre Russell, Gilnean hero, swallowing down bile, gripping a bird with shaking hands, forcing himself to keep breathing.

It was a little better when nothingness gave way to apparently solid decking, and his animal landed beside the others. Orcs. Kill…orcs. Don't look down. This wasn't hard. He could do it…and not consider how he was supposed to get back on solid ground. "So what's the plan?" He demanded, going back to lupine form and bounding over to Lorna.

"We crash it, of course."

Of course. "How?" He finally asked, shadowing her and targeting orcs along the airbags.

"I have explosives."

Of course she did. She was on an airship well above the ground, a mage hanging over her shoulder, throwing fireballs, and she had explosives. His day was just getting better and better….

"I'm not a hero!" He bellowed over the din, and she stared back at him.

"No, no, you certainly are not! You've been nothing but a coward the whole way! Now kill them!"

Right. Kill them. He locked his mind closed on his terror, and fell into step behind the two women. He'd made it this far. He was beginning to have faith that he would keep going, ignoring the fact that their progress took them higher up in the shrouds, further away from the dubious safety of the deck. He just had to keep Lorna and Evelyn alive, with the explosives, until they could plant them…and crash…the airship. It was sheer insanity, and he was sober for it. "We need to get back down there!"

Down? His head spun when he looked over the edge to the deck. "Lorna…?"

"Hush!" Evelyn hissed, securing a rope left tied to the shrouds, and handing it to him. "Just do it, Ban!" She clenched his resolve by doing just as she exhorted him to…and if he did not follow, he would be left behind. He screwed his eyes closed, grabbed the rope, and jumped.

He landed badly, with an ominous thump, but he was intact and seemed little the worse for wear when he stepped into motion. More orcs, but Lorna grasped his wrist when he began to cast. "No!" She bellowed over the din. "We can't crash it here! They have to move it away from Keel or…"

He nodded…the or was obvious. He felt the catch of the engines, and the dirigible began to move north, away from Keel. Lorna nodded, pulling the explosives from her pack and running down, below decks. "It's set…! Now we hold until it's too late!"

Ban had never appreciated 'too late'. It could often go both ways, and this definitely had the earmarks of one of those situations, and he still had doubts about how they were supposed to get down. The hippogriffs that had brought them were apparently the only sane ones here…they were nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell is that?" Evelyn yelled, and he looked…up… at a monstrosity of an orc rolling towards them. It ran almost like a worgen, on three fours, and it bellowed like Ban had always imagined an enraged dragon to bellow. It was almost as large as Ban had imagined a dragon to be, as well, easily three times as large as the largest male orc he'd seen up until then.

"That….is one big orc." Lorna managed, and he could only agree in silence.

"By the Light!" Evelyn marveled, unlimbering the largest caliber hunting rifle he possessed… Or like many of his erstwhile possessions…that she probably possessed. He let that thought go, focused on his target, and let go with everything he had.

"I have no idea!" He yelled back, calling on that wellspring of magic in his soul that he had never bothered to nurture. Not really a mage. These people have no idea… But they kept relying on him, no matter how many times he told them that. Evelyn should know better, she'd been raised alongside of him. He was just…

Falling.

He yelped when the deck pitched, managing to sink claws into the decking and hold his ground. He snatched Evelyn up from her roll, and braced her securely…Lorna was still in the doorway to below decks, wedged in. She wasn't going anywhere… "Keep on it!" That one was as irascible as her father…with the damn deck pitching, Ban held in place with his claws, and he was still supposed to kill the orc? "Oh, hell." He muttered when Evelyn brought the rifle to bear again… the recoil on that was brutal…. He sank the claws of his left hand into the splintering wood deck and grabbed the tails of her coat with the other, providing tripod stability as she sighted down her target. The shot was good, better than good… stellar, between the beast's eyes. He was stunned; she'd gotten so much better since that terrible night.

"Good." Lorna snapped when the beast dropped, "Now we get off of here…on those."

Ban followed her arm and sighed in disgust. Another animal with wings, and this one looked viciously feline. But he was out of options….

Why why why why why! His soul screamed but he remained bitterly silent when he wrapped arms around the largest one's neck and Lorna cut it free. It needed no more encouragement, bolting down the deck and launching itself in the air. Never again. He was never, ever flying again.

"Land, damn it, land." He hissed, and was rewarded by a thump and the sensation of running beneath him. A cautious look proved that he was just this thing's body height over the ground, and he let go, rolling for safety.

There was one single boat remaining when he loped up to the docks, trailed by Lorna and Evelyn. They'd waited… of course, with Crowley stalking the docks; they probably hadn't had much of a choice. "Good job." He growled, and Ban grinned. "You two are the last on. Good luck."

"Wait, what?" That wasn't right. Crowley wasn't aboard. Lorna. A goodly number of the pack. They were being evacuated, while these remained behind? "No!"

"The King's orders, Russell. Your name, Miss Whittaker's, all on the list for the last boat. Now that you've arrived, they can shove off…."

"After all this, you evacuate us like civilians? We just…." They had just done the unthinkable, brought down an airship, with a handful of people…and were being placed on transport now? "There must be room, Crowley!"

"There is room, Pup. But they don't get my country free and clear. They don't rest after they've killed Liam in front of me. I will make them pay. We will make them pay."

The pack behind him nodded eagerly at his words, and Ban chilled. "I thought…" He'd done the very best he was able to do. He'd faced his greatest fears, fought beyond what he had ever even dreamed he was capable of, and it hadn't been enough. He wasn't counted worthy to stay in the pack with Crowley, to stand for Gilneas…

"Enough of the long face, Russell. Your service has been beyond reproach. I see that. Genn sees that."

"Then let me stay! Evelyn can go to Teldrassil…. I stay with the pack! I stay with the pack lord!" He could feel the weighty approval of the pack arrayed behind Crowley, and Evelyn's equally dire outrage.

"Bastard!" She hissed, grabbing a thick handful of his ruff and giving it a good yank. "I just got you back, I am not evacuating again while you do this to me…I learned the first time! If you stay, there's no way in hell I'm getting on that damn boat!"

"Genn has already left Gilneas, Russell. The pack lord is off of these lands, headed for Teldrassil. He chose you as one of the pack to accompany him out into the world. Said you were to learn to be what he had denied you…a mage…trained by the Kirin Tor, if possible. That is how he sees you serving Gilneas, Russell. With your innate gifts. We have remained aloof too long, now we need allies, such as the Kirin Tor. That will be how we regain Gilneas, pup. You go with Genn. You be one of the Gilneans that we show the world. Young, strong, full of promise….. and blameless in our crimes. Your value is not to annoy our enemies; it's to make friends with our prospective allies. Take Evelyn, follow Genn…this is no insult. It's an honor."

Ban glared, but measured the pack. If they didn't believe, agree, their stances would give it away. There were no reservations in them, a chorus of approving yips moved down their line, and he bowed his head in defeat.

"Come, then, Evelyn." He muttered, stepping onto the last boat out of Keel Harbor.

12/9/10 – 1/30/11. 39,719 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:
> 
> Well…there it is. I don't normally do this, but this one is different, so here goes:
> 
> Fog and Roses is special. No, I'm not saying that it's a great piece of fan fiction, a tour de force of writing. It's special because I wondered if it would ever come to pass. I know, while I'm not an incredibly prolific writer of fanfics, that I have enough behind me to pretty much be assured that I can get them finished, at the very least.
> 
> It seems like I've always written. It's a hope, a dream, and it's companionship. I'm rarely bored, because I have these stories, these characters, living in my head. They've been there for so long, I guess I've taken them for granted, and I shouldn't.
> 
> The fall of 2010 was pretty normal… I had completed Chiaroscuro to my satisfaction. I had sold another original short story, and overall, my focus was really on waiting for Cataclysm to launch and reestablishing my long term gaming habit. I wasn't writing, but there wasn't anything new in that. I go through more than my fair share of dry spells in actual writing, but the story lines were always there.
> 
> Everything changed September 27, 2010. Although the actual stroke had occurred the night before, that morning was the first time anyone had ever said, in concrete words, that I had experienced a stroke. Not a TIA, but an honest to goodness stroke, and I was to be admitted to my local hospital. Even then, it really didn't sink in; I played World of Warcraft between my every four hour neurological tests. I walked out of the hospital the next day. I was given a week off (the joys of having your boss also be your primary health care provider and the same guy who said the "S" word first.) And that started a barrage of tests. I didn't really pause to consider that my mind was full of spinal taps, Echocardiograms, MRIs, MRA's, TEE's, and was empty of voices. Of course they were gone… for the time being.
> 
> I went back to work, and received a probable (nothing is concrete) diagnosis…and the news that further strokes were probably preventable with surgery. I had gone from a neurologist's care to an interventional cardiologist's care, and things still felt surreal. Heart surgery? What?
> 
> Things took a major backslide in November, when I experienced a recurrence of stroke symptoms three weeks before my scheduled surgery. This was when it hit me that this wasn't just something I was going to float through… that was the concerned face of someone I worked with telling me that no, staying again at my local hospital wasn't an option. I was to be transferred to the University of Wisconsin hospital, regrettably (her words, not mine) the weather was too bad for med flight and I was going to have to go by ambulance. Reality is truly a 2 am, 80mph, 60 mile ambulance ride in gale force winds. The focus after that was simply to get to that surgery, even though nothing seemed to want to work. Home again, and still…no voices. But I made it there, the Friday before Thanksgiving, loaded to the gills on one of the strongest antibiotics available, (Pneumonia + surgery = ) for my procedure.
> 
> That went remarkably well, and I was released the next day. Went back to work the Friday after Thanksgiving. It seemed like everything was calming down, but still…no voices. For the first time ever, it wasn't there at all. It hadn't been there since the stroke, and I finally started to ask myself if that was one of the things I had lost during this. My coworkers, great people that they are, gave me a gift card and the statement "We wanted to buy you that computer game you keep talking about, but we're not sure which one it was, and we can't seem to find it in the store. Here, go buy it for yourself, but it's from us." A week later, Cata launched, and I was there to buy it. And drag it home. And install it.
> 
> And suddenly, there it was. A story line. A brand, shiny new character… Banastre. Things were back to normal, three or four voices again vying for attention.
> 
> Fog and Roses is special to me. And I hoped you enjoyed it. It's not the end of Ban and Evelyn, but with the flood gates open again…and the sudden opportunity of a Kindle publisher looking at one of my original works, I need to buckle down and get editing.
> 
> Happy Catackalysm, all!
> 
> Semiiramiis….
> 
> Damaris/Erasmis/Ranith and yes, Banastre, all of Runetotem US.


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